


Shooting Star

by elrhiarhodan



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blow Jobs, Brief reference to non-canon suicide, Coming Out, Drug Use, Eventual Romance, Expressions of Homophobia, F/F, Happy Ending, Harry Hart backstory, Hartwin, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Canon Death of Canon Character (who dies in canon), Only One Bed, Percilot - Freeform, Pining, Roxanne/Original Female Character, Singer/Manager, Slow Burn, Story could be read as a Rocketman AU, alternative universe, british singer RPF - Freeform, closeted sexuality, not spies au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-05-20 11:59:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 50,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19376257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: Gary "Eggsy" Unwin had once been the hottest musical act since a certain moppet had been discovered from his YouTube videos, but criminally bad management  had sunk his career - to the point that both his recording contract and his management company have terminated their relationships with Eggsy.  Bored, unhappy, bitter at how everything's gone to shite, he calls his dealer, looking to score some coke.It doesn't work out as he expects.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mmouse15](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmouse15/gifts).



> There are two vectors of inspiration for this story. First is Mmouse15's wonderfully inspiring artwork - not just the gun shot and blood spatter on the Kingsman logo, but the way the color is inked in. The concentric circles really reminded me of the grooves in a vinyl record, and that lead me to think of Eggsy as a recording artist. 
> 
> The second point of inspiration is the lyrics to the 1975 Bad Company hit, [Shooting Star](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FJTSmLqg6iE) (from the album _Straight Shooter_ ), about a young rock star who succumbs to the pressures of stardom and dies young from booze and drugs. I started writing this in late April, 2019, before Rocketman came out (although I was certainly aware of and eagerly anticipating the movie). I honestly had not intended Eggsy's closeted rock star character to any way resemble Elton John.
> 
> And yet, the connection to Elton John seems inevitable. I was recently looking at Elton John's discography and had been intrigued by the 1978 album, _A Single Man_ (probably for the connection to the Christopher Isherwood novel and the Colin Firth adaptation), and to my surprise, saw that there is a song on it called "Shooting Star". It is not the same song, not at all.
> 
> The story is now posted complete - and please note, I've added British Singer RPF to the tags, as Sir Elton will appear at the end of the story (Chapter 14) in an extended cameo.

The letter from Kingsman Artists arrives, express delivery, along with a pile of bills and a box of crap from Amazon that Eggsy doesn't remember ordering.

_Dear Mr. Unwin:_

_Attached please find a letter dated March 23, 2019, from your record label. Despite our best efforts on your behalf, they have elected not to renew your contract. Given your lack of viable production in the last two years and your poorly attended tour, Kingsman Artists has elected to follow suit and is terminating its representation, effective today. This termination does not impact your financial obligations to Kingsman for any work performed prior to this date, nor does it void Kingsman's rights to any income stemming from music sales of works you recorded or performed prior to this date._

_Best wishes in your future endeavors._

_/s/ Chester King_

Eggsy sniffles and blows his nose into the expensive stationary. He does the gross thing and admires how the snot and blood decorate the embossed logo before balling the letter up and tossing it towards the basket across the room. It falls short. Way short.

_What a fucking metaphor for my life._

His brain itches and he needs something to make that stop. Eggsy reaches into the couch and finds a bottle Jack at hand, not even half-empty. That's easily fixed; Eggsy tips the bottle up and swallows until the numbness takes over. The problem is that the numbness quiets the music, too. Maybe that's why he hasn't had a song worth singing in three years. 

He'd started the heavy drinking to quiet the voices that had screamed at him to run as far and fast as he could when he'd been about to sign that record deal – the one that gave him millions of pounds in exchange for his soul. All he has to do is let them change his name - he's professionally known as "Gary Unwin" but since he started out as "Eggsy", a lot of people still call him that. But that's not really the worst of the sins he's permitted Kingsman Artists to commit against him. 

Chester hadn't been the one to discover him, but somehow, he'd become his manager without so much as a by-your-leave. A really nice bloke had called on him, told him he'd seen Eggsy's videos on YouTube and thought he had the makings of a superstar. He'd started by introducing Eggsy to some of his idols, rockers and singers who would help him refine his sound and style, but then he disappeared and an old bloke, Chester King - the owner of the whole damn agency - took over. 

Chester had insisted on marketing him as the "next Justin Bieber" and forced him to give up the music he loves - the kind that tells stories about the human condition. Instead, he had to write and sing they types of songs that the label had told him would be sellable, he had keep quiet while the technicians Auto-Tuned the Welsh and London out of his voice, and never, ever do anything that would destroy the fantasies of all those millions of teenaged girls and middle-aged housewives who watch his videos and buy his music. 

Chester had even threatened to destroy him with a breach of contract suit if anyone had ever discovered that he's even the least bit queer.

The last three years have been spent denying the truth about the very things that make him who he is, all for that most elusive of prizes – stardom.

And now, he has nothing left. No career, no management, no music, and no body to share his life with. Eggsy doesn't know what he even sounds like anymore. All he can hear is the over-produced tones of a characterless voice singing words that have no meaning.

The itch is getting itchier and Eggsy finishes the rest of the Jack before reaching for the box he keeps on the table next to the couch. Except the box is empty. Even the silver razor blade and matching straw are gone – one of the groupies at the last party he'd had a few days ago must have helped herself to it before they'd left. And the white powder lingering in the corner of the box isn't remnants of the last bag of blow, but simply fouling tasting dust.

If he wants to get high, he's going to need more than that. For a fleeting moment, he thinks he doesn't have to worry about his sexuality anymore, since Kingsman doesn't rep him anymore. He could go out and finally get laid. But right now, that seems like too much effort. He'd rather go buy some coke and have a little party all by himself.

Eggsy may have gone through a fortune, but he's far from broke. He owns his condo and his cars, his mother's house is paid off and there's money in the bank for his sister's education, but there's no more big money coming in, and the residuals from his record sales that hit his bank account are going to get smaller and smaller, especially after Kingsman takes its cut. So right now, he can afford to call his dealer, stop at an ATM for cash, and buy the blow, but the coke is quickly going to become an extravagance he'll have to do without.

Maybe without the fucking vultures at Kingsman and the label censoring his every thought and deed, he won't need it anymore. 

But right now, he still does. 

His phone is somewhere on the couch and Eggsy's head spins as he digs for it. He finally digs it out and manages to dial his dealer. "Hey, Charlie."

_"Ah, it's you, Eggy. What do you want?"_

Eggsy ignores the snide tone and the mangling of his name. "Need the usual, you have it in stock?"

_"I'll need to check. I heard you got canned. I don't do anything on credit."_

"I have the cash." Eggsy hates Charlie, hates him with a deep and abiding passion. The guy has an old family name and an education that probably cost more than Eggsy's mother's house, but he makes a living selling blow to idiots like him. And yet, he's a fucking snob, looking down on Eggsy, butchering his name, making it seem like Eggsy's money's too dirty to take. But he takes it anyway. 

_"All right. Usual place, Unwin. One hour. Don't be late."_

Charlie hangs up and Eggsy glares at his mobile, a pointless exercise. He finds his wallet and shoes and whistles for JB before remembering that his little dog is living with his mum and sister in Wales. It must be the Jack fucking with his brain because he'd dropped the pug off before he'd left for his last tour a year ago. When he'd visited his mum and sister, Daisy had seemed so heartbroken that he'd left JB there. Truth is, life's a bit easier without the dog.

Charlie's usual place of business is a swanky coffee shop in Chelsea, right off of Sloane Square. The posh location means that Charlie can up his rates twenty percent; it also means he doesn't have to deal with the riff-raff. But the location is convenient for Eggsy, since his condo is right in the heart of the pricey neighborhood. As he waits for the ATM to spit out his cash, Eggsy pops a few breath mints to disguise the lingering taste of shitty whisky.

It's midday, just after the lunchtime crowd, and the shop is mostly empty. There's a pair of yummy mummies with thousand quid prams at one table, a trio of schoolgirls in Catholic school uniforms at another, and Charlie, a model for Hooray Henrys everywhere, ensconced at the last table in the back.

Eggsy orders a flat white with almond milk and a plain biscotto; he drops a couple of pound coins in the tip jar after he pays because the barista probably gets paid shite, despite the posh digs. He can feel Charlie's eyes on him, like a hungry demon with malevolent intent. Eggsy knows that Charlie wants his ass, Charlie's tried to cozen his way into Eggsy's bed for years, but Eggsy know that while the desire is real, Charlie is just trying to mess him up. After all, Chester King is Charlie's grandfather and Charlie won't hesitate to let Chester know that Eggsy's bent.

Not that _that_ matters anymore. But Eggsy finds Charlie about as attractive as a cold sore, and even if Charlie offered him a year's supply of blow, Eggsy isn't getting naked and horizontal with him. He'll never be that hard up – even if both wrists and all ten fingers are broken.

Eggsy nods at the pretty schoolgirls, winks at the mums, and eventually takes a seat opposite Charlie. He dunks the biscotto in the coffee and eats it with relish.

"You could have gotten one for me, you know."

Eggsy swallows and nearly chokes on the crumbs. "No, I couldn't. I don't like you enough to buy you coffee. You can use the money I'm about to give you to buy your own." In deference to the schoolgirls and the mums, Eggsy doesn't use a single invective.

"Ouch." Charlie just smirks. "I guess you'll need to conserve your pennies if you want to keep up with your expensive … habits."

"Or find myself some less expensive ones."

"Yeah, guy like you should be buying crack out of the back of someone's beater at the Winchester service area."

Eggsy just rolls his eyes, "Cut the crap, Charlie."

"Look, I don't have to sell to you. All you do is bring down the neighborhood."

This is an old routine and Eggsy is so tired of it. "So we're negging now? That's supposed to make me more eager to keep buying from you?" Eggsy gets up, he doesn't need this shit. "We're done here."

"Sit, sit." Charlie's now all smiles. "It's just a game, Eggy. Doesn’t mean a thing."

Eggsy doesn't sit. He finishes his coffee, swallows a burp, and heads for the door. Eggsy thinks Charlie's actually given up until he hears him chasing after him but he doesn't stop until he's halfway down the block and just inside Sloane Square.

"Geez, Unwin, pull that stick out of your arse."

"And replace it with your cock?"

Charlie grins and cocks a hip at him, "If you'd like…"

"I'd rather get fucked by …" Eggsy cuts himself off. For all he knows, Charlie could be recording this. "We're done, Chuckles. Ain't nothing you've got that I want to buy."

"Then how about a gift?"

"Since when are you so generous?"

"Look, I may like jerking your chain, but I'm not without feelings. I know you've got to be hurting, what with losing your record label and your representation."

Eggsy's eyes narrow and he glares at Charlie. "Did your grandad tell you he dropped me? Because I can't imagine how else you'd know about that."

"Maybe? Does it matter?" Charlie looms over him, blocking out the afternoon sunshine. "Look, I'm trying to do something nice for you. I was being an ass and pushing your buttons, let me make it up to you."

Eggsy feels that itching again, and it's only getting worse, and there's something new – nausea. He wonders if the barista gave him soy, not almond milk. Eager to get home, Eggsy looks around, and there's no sign of the filth, not that there would be in this neighborhood, and says, "All right. But it's a gift, I'm not giving you a quid, right?"

"Right. Shake on it?" Charlie holds out his hand and Eggsy takes it. He can feel the square packet cling to his skin.

"Ta."

"See you soon?"

Eggsy isn't making any promises and walks off without saying another word.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry has a well-established morning routine. He gets into his office a little after seven, makes a cappuccino and spends the next twenty minutes on the crossword puzzle. Once that's done, he fixes a second cup – this time a double espresso – and goes through his YouTube searches, looking for new acts, new talents, some spark of something raw that might be cut and polished into a star. He knows it's the equivalent of reading through a publisher's slush pile, but he never forgets that one of the biggest names in pop music had been discovered on YouTube.

Ten mediocre (at best) videos later, Harry's cup is empty, he's a bit twitchy from the caffeine, and he's ready to start the day.

It's now eight-fifteen, and time for his morning meeting with the other partners in Hart & Co – Merlin, Percival, and James had all walked out of Kingsman Artists the day Chester had fired Harry. They'd pooled their resources and started their own agency. While Harry would have preferred not to have his name on the door, his friends insisted – he had the biggest client list and the most visibility in the industry, so it made sense to put him front and center. Unlike Kingsman, Hart & Co. is not ruled from the top down. It's a true partnership, with each member owning one-quarter of the business, even Merlin, who isn't in talent management, but runs the entire Hart & Co. operation, has a share.

Harry picks up his notepad and heads to the conference room, stopping to wish his admin a good morning. Amelia smiles and hands him a message. "This came in a few minutes ago, and I know you don't like your morning routine disrupted unless the world is about to end."

"Thank you, my dear."

Harry reads the message and it feels like a punch to the gut – no, worse. A knife in the brain. He's sick and sad and all he wants to go is go home and shut out the world. Instead, he goes into the conference room. James and Percival, still behaving like newlyweds after three years of wedded bliss, are already there. 

"Gentlemen." He hears the grief in his voice.

Percival must hear it too. He interrupts his canoodling to ask, "Everything all right?"

Harry holds up the paper. "It's from your niece."

"Roxanne? What's the matter?"

"She's been put on a case." Harry feels like he's been punched in the gut.

"That's nothing to be surprised about. She is a Detective Inspector, after all. Would be weird if she didn't have any cases." 

Harry doesn't quite appreciate Percival's wit this morning. "She's investigating an accidental overdose – Gary Unwin, Eggsy - ."

"Unwin – he's the one who …"

Harry nods. Eggsy had originally been Harry's client, his discovery, and Harry's departure from Kingsman had been precipitated by Chester's poaching. Chester had been stealing Harry's discoveries for years, telling Harry "My firm, my rules" and Harry had put up with it. But the theft of Eggsy had been the last straw. He'd argued with Chester about the man's plans to turn Eggsy into another pop sensation, but Chester had refused to listen to reason. Harry hadn't been able to watch Chester ruin that talent, and when he'd tried to claw Eggsy back, Chester had fired him and threatened to sue him into oblivion if Harry did anything to interfere with Unwin's relationship with Kingsman Artists.

James sighs, "Poor kid. This is the third talent that Kingsman's lost to drugs since the beginning of the year. May his memory be a blessing."

"He's not dead." Merlin comes into the room. "I just got off the phone with Roxanne. Eggsy's very much alive and seriously pissed off."

Harry looks at the message again, it doesn't actually say that Eggsy's dead. Just that he's OD'd. The relief is almost painful as his grief had been. "What happened?"

"Roxanne wouldn't say much – she's not really supposed to tell us anything, but she knows your interest in the lad and thought you might want to help him."

Harry frowns. "How can I? My hands are tied; the whole firm's hands are tied. Chester made that clear. As much as I think the boy still has tremendous promise, we'll get sued out of existence if we approach him."

Merlin grins. "Well, there's nothing to worry about on that score anymore. Chester cut Eggsy loose yesterday. I was going to tell ye that first thing, but this took precedence."

"Cut him loose? I thought he'd cling to Eggsy until he was in the grave." Harry winces, that's a bad way to put things.

"All I know is that Eggsy's label didn't renew and Kingsman sent Eggsy a letter dropping their representation. My contacts in Kingsman sent me a copy of both letters last night, after hours. Ye were at that thing at Elton John's all evening, so I couldn't reach ye."

"Yes, right. Well." Harry would like to argue that anything involving Eggsy Unwin would have justified an interruption during an audience with the Queen. "What hospital is Eggsy in?"

"Chelsea and Westminster, and he's being kept in the secure ward."

Harry nods. The secure ward isn't for mental health or dangerous patients, but for celebrities and anyone who needs sheltering from the press. "Under what name?"

Merlin says with studied blandness, "Gary Hart."

James chokes on his coffee. "You have to be kidding."

"I believe that's Roxanne's sense of humor at work," Percival replies with a proud smirk.

Harry actually sees beyond that. "She's also thinking ahead. I can now get in to see Eggsy as his 'uncle'."

James asks, "What are going to do? Offer him representation?"

"No, not off the bat. I need to assess what Eggsy needs, first. Putting any kind of pressure on him now could be counterproductive. His tour had been a mess, he didn't finish the last album on his contract, and the rumors of his excessive drinking and drug use are deeply worrisome. We may need to get him clean before anything."

Merlin nods. "I'll call up to Achnagairn, have Lara and Kenyon get the place ready for ye. Do ye want the usual preparations?"

"Please, and unless things go badly today, I'll be staying with him until he's ready to leave." It's not unheard of for one of the partners to spend time with an ailing or troubled artist, but it's unusual to do so to this extent. 

Merlin looks like he's about to disagree with Harry's plan, but says nothing.

"Anything else you need me for?" Harry's anxious to get to the hospital.

He's halfway out the door when Merlin says, "Other than Kingsman Artists impending bankruptcy?"

"What?" Harry turns so abruptly he gets dizzy.

"My contacts tell me that Chester is about to lay off a third of the support staff because they can't make payroll. Kingsman is almost a year behind on the rent for the Savile Row offices. They've been trying to break the lease, but the landlord won't let them out until they pay the past due. And clients are leaving in droves. So are the talent managers and developers"

Harry knows about the last – Kingsman's loses have been their gains; they've picked up a dozen top-flight artists in the last three months. But Harry has told his partners to be careful about what they discuss and to avoid mentioning Kingsman whenever possible. "And yet, they've cut Eggsy loose. That doesn't make sense."

Percival notes, "Little that Chester does makes sense, Harry. He's always been a bit insane."

"That's true. When I get settled at Achnagairn, we need to talk about what to do."

"Ye want to make an offer?" Merlin doesn't seem the least bit surprised.

Harry's not sure, but it's been a long held dream to acquire his old firm and fix the problems that Chester and his bad management have created. Stepping in now could be too good of an opportunity to let pass by. "It's something to think about." His partners understand; Harry's made no secret of this dream. "I'm going over to the hospital now. I'll check in with you this afternoon, and if you hear anything of note, let me know."

Before Harry leaves, Percival and James ask him to give the boy their best wishes.

Harry doesn't have much trouble getting onto the so-called secure ward; he's a familiar face, having any number of clients who've needed hospitalization over the years. It also helps that Detective Inspector Morton is at the nurses' station.

Harry nods at Roxanne and greets the ward manager first. "Brenda, how are you?" He hands her the bouquet of tulips he'd picked up on his way over. 

"Thank you, Mr. Hart, it's always a good day when you come around." She pulls the card out of the bouquet and tucks it into her pocket without even looking at it. This is all part of the job, she knows there's a fifty pound note tucked into the card.

"I believe my nephew, Gary, had been admitted last night?"

Brenda looks over at Roxanne, who isn't so subtle when she nods for her to release the information. "Yes, he was. Poor lad – passed out on drugs and drink. Thank goodness his housekeeper found him."

Harry knows she's stretching the boundaries of the law – Brenda shouldn't be telling him anything about Eggsy's condition, they both know that Harry really isn't Eggsy's family.

"Yes, it was quite fortuitous. Is he awake? I'd like to see him for a bit."

"He is, but don't you go reading him the riot act and getting him upset. The detective here has been going hard on him and the boy can't take much more."

"Very well. Gary is dear to me and I wouldn't want to do anything to cause him any distress." That's actually quite true.

When Brenda turns her attention to the waiting pile of charts, Roxanne pulls Harry aside. "You better not tell anyone I called you on this. It's my warrant card if the Chief Super finds out."

"Of course, my dear. But I am delighted that you did call me. What happened?"

"Hard to say. Eggsy Unwin's housekeeper found her employer face down in a pile of his own vomit; there was white powder everywhere. SOCO has preliminarily identified the powder as cocaine cut with heroin, both drugs in extremely pure states. The EMT had administered NARCAN and that stabilized Unwin. The odd thing is that while there are signs of Unwin's long-term cocaine use, there's nothing to indicate that he's a heroin addict. According to the tox panels, he had remarkably little of either drug in his system."

"So what happened?"

"Could have been a fluke – breathed in the wrong way, started choking and collapsed. The problem is that Unwin won't talk to me and while I could charge him with possession, I doubt the charges will stick. And if a miracle happens and CPS actually moves on the case, he's not going to do any time."

"Let me talk to him. And I'll bring Sally in to represent him."

"You'll have to tell her she's my wife. He may think there's a conflict of interest there."

"I don't think he'll have a problem one he meets her."

"No, Sally does have a way of making it clear whose side she's on. And the Crown can't afford her rates."

"It's a good that that Hart & Co. has her on retainer; if we had to pay full freight at a thousand pounds an hour, we'd quickly go bankrupt." Harry glances towards the patient rooms. "Let me go see my nephew and get this mess sorted out."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Eggsy meet again and Harry commits to helping Eggsy regain his music. He doesn't insist on becoming his manager, but his price is Eggsy getting off the booze and coke.
> 
> Eggsy finds that an acceptable bargain.

Eggsy wants out of the hospital. Not to go home and lick his wounds, but to go find that supreme wanker, Charlie Hesketh, and murder him.

The bastard had given him a fucking speedball. He'd tried to kill him.

Eggsy doesn't believe that Charlie's "gift" had been his own idea. Charlie ain't that smart. Or that stupid. Eggsy's been a decent customer over the years and no dealer would be that much of a moron enough to kill a golden goose like that – adding the H into the blow for kicks. One of the reasons why Eggsy's put up with Charlie's bullshit is because Charlie doesn't deal in the hard stuff. Only coke and weed, not heroin or oxy or benzos, or E or meth or acid; just the recreational drug preferred by the moneyed set.

If he'd wanted the hard crap, Eggsy could have always tapped one of his stepfather's old gang. Dean might be roasting in hell these days, but Poodle and Rottie are still barking in the Estates. 

No, Charlie had been put up by someone to do that stunt, and Eggsy's pretty sure he knows who that is. 

He's grinding his teeth and plotting revenge when someone taps on the door and comes in, without even waiting for Eggsy to give permission. It's not a nurse, it's not the fucking detective inspector coming to get him to grass. It's a posh gent in a good suit who looks vaguely familiar. 

"Hello, Eggsy." 

"Don't I know you?"

"Yes, I had been your agent, for a very brief space of time. I'd discovered you - "

"Yeah, yeah. Harry Hart, right?"

"Yes, I'm glad you remember me."

"I couldn't forget the bloke who came knocking on my door and told me he wanted to make me a star." Eggsy might be feeling like crap, but he is kind of pleased to see Harry Hart. The man's first entrance into Eggsy's life had been splendidly dramatic and for a moment, that memory makes Eggsy forget about everything than had gone wrong since.

"Yes, well, I'm sorry that our relationship got interrupted." The man smiles at him, a touch sadly.

"Interrupted? Chester told me that you'd quit, washed your hands of me and the whole business."

"Well, not really." Harry looks at the chair next to the bed. "May I sit with you for a bit?"

"Yeah, sure. But what do you mean, not really quit?"

"It's quite a story but the long and the short of it is that I'd objected most strenuously when Chester took over your management, so much so that he'd fired me."

"Oi, bruv – that sucks so much – for both of us." Harry's revelations give Eggsy a powerful case of regret. "Things might have been a lot different if you'd stayed as my agent."

"Yes, I know they would have. I have been following your career, Eggsy."

"What career? I'm a one-hit wonder. Crappy second album that was filled with the type of shite that would send you screaming from the room, a mostly unsold tour, and I'm so fucked up I can't string together enough songs for a third album. Got cut by my label and by Kingsman." Telling Harry this makes it all seem to real, all too depressing.

"Is that why you did a speedball? Were you trying to kill yourself?"

"Fucking hell, no way! I don't do H – never, ever. Just coke on occasion. And yesterday seemed like an occasion. I didn't buy that crap and wouldn't have taken even a taste if I'd know what was in it." Eggsy wonders why he's being so free with the information. He hadn't said a word to the fucking rozzer who interrogated him a little while ago. 

"So – what happened? Someone spiked your blow?"

Eggsy gives Harry a deeply suspicious look; it's so weird hearing drug slang from such a posh bloke. "Look, don't know why you're here or why you care. Ain't like I'm your client or nothing."

"But you could be. Since Chester's terminated your contract with Kingsman Artists, there's no reason you can't let me manage your career."

"What career? Didn't you hear me say I'm a burned out has-been."

"Or maybe you're just going through a bad patch. Maybe you need a little time out of the city, away from everything that temps you. A chance to relax and find yourself again."

"Like going into rehab?" That ain't happening. 

Harry wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. Which is kind of adorable. "No, unless you think you need it."

"Do addicts ever think they need it?" Which is a weird thing to say, since he's not an addict.

"I guess the question is, do you think you're an addict?"

And yet, he finds himself saying "Maybe? Don't really think so."

"Perhaps it's something we can discuss when the situation isn't quite so fraught."

"Yeah. Got the police breathing down my neck, talking about charging me for possession."

"I can help you with that, if you let me."

"You got that much pull? Can you make the charges go away?"

"Well, not pull like that, but the firm does have an excellent lawyer on retainer. She'll eat DI Morton for breakfast."

Eggsy might be stuck in a hospital bed after an accidental overdose and nearly drowning in his own vomit, but he's not stupid and his brain is working just fine. "Didn't mention the copper's name, you know."

Harry smiles, "Yes, I know. You got lucky, by the way. DI Morton - Roxanne - is the niece of one of my business partners. I've know her since she wore pigtails and played in mud puddles. She knows that you had been the reason why I'd left Kingsman and why her uncle had followed me out the door; she'd wanted me to know what's going on." And then Harry casually drops a nugget of information. "The lawyer we have on retainer is Roxanne's wife."

Eggsy stares at Harry, not quite believe what he's just heard. "Your lawyer is the copper's wife?"

Harry stares back, turns bright pink and starts to laugh. Eggsy blinks, remembers what Harry had said and starts laughing, too. "I bet she does eat her for breakfast."

That sends both of them laughing again and Eggsy feels better in this moment than he has for the last three years. "You don't think it'll be a problem if I hired her?"

"No, not at all. And technically, Hart & Co will hire Sally on your behalf. She shouldn't need to do too much to get CID to drop any potential charges."

"Are they going to want to know who I got the stuff from?" Eggsy wants to take care of Charlie himself.

"That will help, certainly."

"I don't grass on no one."

"Even on someone who tried to kill you?"

Eggsy knows when he's being handled and he doesn't like it one bit. "I got my reasons."

"Are you afraid of him? Putting him in jail will solve that problem." Harry sounds too fucking reasonable.

Eggsy clams up.

Harry, damn him, sees things a little clearly. "But you're not afraid of him. You want to get back at him yourself. A little street justice? I hate to tell you, but that's just plain stupid. You'll throw out everything over some drug dealer?" Harry sounds angry.

"What if the dealer was working with someone else? Someone rich and powerful. I go to the filth with that, they ain't going to listen - I'm just some drugged up chav who got famous for like five minutes."

"You're not just 'some chav', Eggsy. You matter and as far as I'm concerned, your word is golden."

Harry's faith is touching, but Eggsy can't let himself believe in it.

"How about this, let me have Sally come in and you can talk to her. If she doesn't believe your theories, then she won't ask you to mention them to the police, but you really should at least give them the name of your dealer."

Eggsy can hear what Harry's going to say next. "Because it's the right thing to do?"

"Yes, and because the fucking asshole tried to kill you. He deserves to spend the rest of his life as a guest at one of Her Majesty's less-well-kept penal facilities. Preferably in all day lock-down as the cellmate of a man with a voracious sexual appetite."

Eggsy can so easily see Charlie trying to whine his way out of rape and it's a very satisfying fantasy. "You are evil."

Harry just smiles angelically and says nothing. A few minutes of this quiet makes Eggsy a little nuts. Harry just sits there, saying nothing. He doesn't even pull out his phone or a tablet or ask to turn on the telly. It's a bit creepy, to be honest. "What gives?"

"Nothing, why?"

"You're just sitting there. What do you want?"

"I want a lot of things. When I was five, I wanted my own pony and a flying motor car."

Harry Hart is as posh as they come, and Eggsy has to say, "Bet you got the pony."

"Nope. No place to put a pony in a flat in Belgravia. Would have made quite the mess and the noise and smell would have irritated the other tenants."

Eggsy can't help but laugh. " 'Course you grew up in Belgravia."

Harry shrugs.

"But serious, bruv. What do you want _from me_? You're just sitting there like you're at some loved one's bedside."

"That pretty much sums it up."

Eggsy has to point out, "I ain't your loved one."

"No, but you are someone I like, someone I admire. That's reason enough for me to sit here."

Eggsy does want to fall for this. "You don't got nothing better to do?"

"No, not really. My partners will handle things in my absence. And if it's a true emergency, they'll call." Harry gives him a questioning look. "Unless I'm making you uncomfortable and you'd prefer that I leave."

That idea is really kind of unpalatable. "No, course not. I'm bored and angry and if you go, I might just pull out the IV and hit the streets."

"I don't recommend doing that – you could bleed to death, which would be rather counter-productive. But I'm happy to stay."

"You haven't answered my question. What do you want from me?" Eggsy knows he's being obnoxious and aggressive.

"Come on, Eggsy – you're a smart man. What do you think I want from you?"

Eggsy wants to shock the posh bloke and say _my ass_ , but that's pushing it, even for him. He thinks and looks at Harry, who is this expectant expression on his face. He can't quite make the connection, though. "Sorry – I'm just not getting it, bruv."

"Don't worry about it – we can chalk it up to your recent trauma. What I want from you is simple – a chance to try again. To give you the representation you deserve."

Eggsy rolls his head back on the pillow. "I'm all washed up, there's nothing to represent."

"Every artist has a fallow period."

"No, you don't get it. I'm done, there's nothing left. I haven't picked up a guitar or sung a note since I got back from that fucking abomination of a tour. The music's dead inside of me."

"Do you want it back, Eggsy?"

Eggsy feels almost dizzy with emotion. "Yeah, fuck, yeah. Feels like I lost my arms and legs and can do nothing but roll around in my own shit. I miss the music so bad. My brain itches from the need, but my hands don't want to play, my voice don't want to sing."

"Is that why you've been drinking so much? Doing coke? Trying to quiet the itch?"

Eggsy nods, too suffused with emotion to speak.

"I had suggested before that you might want to get out of London for a while."

"And I said, I ain't doing rehab."

"I wasn't going to suggest that. I have a place up north, about fifty kilometers outside of Inverness; it's called Achnagairn. I had spent my summers there as a child and will often go up there for a holiday. It's fully modernized and spacious, completely private, too. And what might interest you the most is that it has a recording studio and practice rooms."

"Why?"

"Why does it have practice rooms and a recording studio? Well, a number of musicians we work with have needed a retreat…"

"Oh, thought maybe you were a musician, too."

Harry shakes his head. "No, not really. I can manage a few Beatles tunes on an acoustic guitar, and I'm not half-bad at Rock Band. And since my mother was very proudly Scottish – I'd inherited the house in the Highlands from her - I'd learned to play the bag pipes."

Eggsy is fascinated by this. "You any good?" 

Harry laughs. "Not in the least. Last time I played for my mother, she had threatened to disown me."

"Ha!" Eggsy finds he really likes this posh bastard. "So, if I go with you to Achna-whatever, you're thinking I'll be able to get my music back?"

"Achnagairn, and that's the theory. But you have to give me something in return."

Eggsy doesn't like the sound of that. "Oh?"

"You have to promise to stop drinking and doing drugs."

"Thought you said it ain't rehab."

"It's not. It's a place for you to get clean and sober on your own terms. I'll be there with you; I'll give you all of the support you'll need. And if you need more than that, there's a counsellor in Inverness I trust, and she'll be happy to work with you."

Eggsy is still doubtful. He's also feeling way too vulnerable, and maybe just a bit too loose-lipped. "What if it never comes back? What if I can't stop drinking?"

"What if it does? What if you do? Why throw roadblock up?"

"You got answers to everything."

"Not really, Eggsy. But I have always regretted not fighting harder to keep you. If I had, you wouldn't have ended up here."

"You don't know that. I could have flamed out with the most perfect manager."

"I don't think so. Chester did everything possible to ruin you when he tried to make you into a pop sensation. You're a story-teller, and he should have been doing everything possible to make that flourish."

"That type of music don't bring the big bucks."

"Tell that to Elton John."

"Who?" 

Harry looks at him like he's just committed bloody murder, and then he must realize that Eggsy's taking the piss on him when he asks, "Did I say Pete Townsend?"

Eggsy laughs, bitter and full of self-disgust. "I ain't no Elton John, bruv. No Pete Townsend, either."

"But you could be."

Eggsy feels a bit overwhelmed. "Chester kept telling me I needed to be more friendly to the 'youth market', and that if I didn't sing what the teenage girls liked, I'd be nothing."

"Yes, well, Chester has been looking for the next Justin Bieber since, well, Justin Bieber came on the scene. And that's not you. You might be gorgeous and have more sex appeal that the Bieb, but your voice and your music isn't kid-friendly in the least. Chester tried to force you into that mold and had nearly destroyed you."

"Think he did destroy me." Eggsy stares at the sheets over his lap, anything so he doesn't start to cry.

"No, Eggsy, he didn't. You are too brilliant to be snuffed out so easily."

Eggsy doesn't answer, although the warmth and concern in Harry's voice makes him feel even worse.

"We're going to fix this. I am not going to give up on you."

When the tears start to fall, Harry moves over to sit on the bed. When he pulls Eggsy into his arms and holds him so perfectly gently, Eggsy doesn't hesitate to let all of the pain and grief pour out onto Harry's strong shoulder.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The docs clear Eggsy for release early the next morning. DI Morton has visited him again, still pressing for the name of his dealer and making vague threats about charging him with possession. Eggsy tells her, with his cheekiest grin, that he's retaining on Sally Gideon QC, as his legal representative in all matters relating to his alleged drug possession. He can't talk to the filth without her presence.

Rather than looking put out by the news, DI Morton nods and tells him he's made a good decision.

Eggsy thinks so, too. Last night, just before Harry had taken himself off, Sally Gideon had shown up and Eggsy's jaw just dropped. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but you are honestly the most gorgeous bird I've ever met." She's nearly six feet tall in stiletto pumps and a magnificent Afro adds another four inches to her splendid height.

"Thank you, Mr. Unwin." Gideon's accent is pure RP. "And while you are objectively a very handsome man, you do nothing for me emotionally or sexually."

Eggsy grins and feels remarkably at ease with the barrister, even when she asks Harry to leave so they can talk privately.

Gideon perches in the chair Harry has just vacated, crosses those magnificent legs and lays down the law. "You are going to be completely honest with me, Mr. Unwin. You will hold nothing back. I don't care that you snort coke and heroin - I am not your shrink or your mental health counsellor. My job is to present your situation in such a way that CID and Crown Prosecution Services will find it a waste of time to charge you. Is that understood?"

Slightly cowed by the sheer force of Gideon's personality, Eggsy nods, but he does have to say, "I never grassed on no one before. Not even my stepdad, when he was selling the shit to the people in the neighborhood."

"Why not?" Gideon tilts her head and Eggsy's reminded of one of the huge sea eagles he'd seen in the zoo.

"Because it was better the devil you know - with Dean gone, someone else bigger and meaner and tougher would take over. Knew how to work around Dean and his muppets. He used the stuff himself and I figured it would kill him one day."

Gideon doesn't nod and Eggsy gets the feeling that she absolutely doesn't approve. 

"So, why won't you tell the police about your dealer? Are you worried that he'll try to get back at you?"

Now comes the hard part. Telling Gideon about that wanker, Charlie, means he's turning a corner and he won't be able to go back. Then he realizes he doesn't want to go back. He wants to be the man he'd been before the fame and drugs and booze. "I think he was trying to kill me."

That gets a reaction. "Why do you think that?"

Eggsy explains about the meeting at the coffee shop, how Charlie pushed Eggsy's buttons until he got up and walked away, how Charlie then chased after him and gave him his "order" as a gift for being such an ass. And Charlie had made it clear that he'd known that Eggsy had gotten fired by his agency and his record label.

"That seems odd. Your drug dealer knows quite about your life. And I've looked into you; you've fallen so far out of the public eye that the most recent developments haven't made the news."

"Which is what I'm getting at. Charlie is Chester King's grandson. Chester is my ex-manager. It's pretty obvious how he found out."

"You think King told him."

Eggsy nods. "And I might be crazy, but I think Chester also told him to give me the speedball. That's not my thing, ever. Just coke and booze and sometimes some weed. Nothing else. No pills, no hard stuff, not even any E."

"Why would he do that?"

"I think he wants me dead." Eggsy frowns. "I know that sounds really bizarre, but it's the only thing I could think of. Charlie doesn't deal in H, or even other party drugs; just coke and weed, so it wasn't like it had been a mistake or something. He deliberately gave me the mix and no other reason makes any sense." Gideon is quiet and Eggsy things he's screwed. "Look, I know it sounds crazy, what with Chester cancelling my contract, but - "

Gideon holds up her hand and Eggsy shuts up. "I don't know if it's crazy, but from what you say, your dealer's actions don't make sense. With your permission, I will tell CID about your dealer and about the odd nature of a transaction that didn't actually happen; how he 'gave' you what you thought was cocaine. I will make it clear that you had no intention of ingesting heroin. As for your suspicions about Chester King, we'll hold that back. There are some things I'd like to look into before sharing that."

"You don't think I'm nuts?"

"On the contrary, Mr. Unwin, I think you are extremely sane and very intelligent. I wish all of my clients had such presence of mind. But I do have a question – what happened with the drugs? The toxicology reports indicate that there had been very small amount of either of the drugs in your bloodstream, and yet you'd vomited and passed out. That doesn't make much sense, even if you had an unusual reaction to the heroin. Like an allergy."

"That's right and wrong. I did have an allergic reaction, but not to the smack. I'd ordered coffee at the shop and asked for almond milk - I've got an issue with soy and I hate the taste of low-fat milk, and I think they made it with soy – was already feeling nauseous before I got home. I'd tasted the stuff Charlie gave me and it was just – dunno – weird. And I was getting even more nauseous. I took another taste - just rubbed it on my gums and that's the last thing I remember before waking up in the ER with people shouting at me." 

Gideon looks pleased. "I am pretty certain you'll be in the clear. Would you be willing to submit to random drug tests?"

"Yeah, sure. But Harry wants me to go to some cottage in Scotland to get clean – so how's that going to work?"

"There are medical facilities and labs in Inverness, I will make sure that Mr. Hart is put as your contact for these tests."

"Sounds good. Anything else I have to worry about?"

Gideon has some bad news for him. "Your apartment is still a crime scene, I'm afraid you won't be let back in for another few days."

"Great. I'll get a hotel room until Harry wants to head to Scotland. Do you think that there's any way I can get my phone and wallet and some clothes?"

"I'll ask DI Morton," Gideon says with a slight smile. "But I make no promises."

But Gideon has come through for him. Harry Hart shows up mid-morning with his wallet and phone and a large carrier bag from Harrods. "I went shopping for you last night, before Sally had let me know that the police would let me in to get some clothes for you."

"Ta, that's aces, mate." Eggsy checks out Harry's purchases and is delighted; Harry's taken care of everything from the skin out. "Nurses say that I can go as soon as they get the paperwork from the doctors." He lifts a hand with a bandage across the back. "They've even disconnected me from the IV."

"Congratulations. Shall I leave the room so you can get dressed?"

"Nah, I'll go to the loo and change in there. Want to wash up a bit. Feeling seriously grubby." Eggsy grabs the bag, leaves Harry in the room and goes into the bathroom, which has a full-sized shower. The water is lukewarm, the soap is industrial strength, and the shampoo smells like wood polish, but at least he's clean.

The clothes Harry picked out are not his usual thing – but you can't go wrong with gray chinos and a navy polo – all good quality stuff. To Eggsy's surprise, there is even a pair of loafers in the bottom of the bag, in his size. When he rejoins Harry, he asks him how he managed that bit of magic.

"Easily enough. When Roxanne retrieved your wallet and phone early this morning, she'd checked your shoe size. I went back to Harrods and got the shoes on my way over."

"Thanks, Harry. You'll let me know what I owe you – none of this stuff is cheap."

"Don't worry about it."

"When people say that, that's when I start worrying. And if you tell me it's all part of the service – we don't have a contract yet, remember?"

"Fair enough. I'll have the bills sent to you."

"Good. And thanks." Eggsy checks his phone and frowns. There almost no charge left.

"What's the matter?"

"Phone's dying and I need to book a hotel for tonight. Don't know when the police are going to let me back into my flat. Don't suppose you could get a room for me at someplace decent?"

"Can I be honest with you, Eggsy?"

"Sure, but my credit is good. I pay my bills on time. That's the one thing I'd refused to turn over to Chester – he wanted like three percent of all the outgoing just to write the check."

"Wise move, but I'm not worried about your credit. I just don't think it's a good idea for you to be by yourself right now."

"I wasn't planning on doing hard drugs, Harry. Told you that – what happened was either an accident or - " Eggsy doesn't feel ready yet to share with Harry his suspicions about Chester.

Harry doesn't notice the hesitation when he drives his own point home. "No, but you were planning on buying cocaine. And you've been drinking heavily. What are you going to do by yourself tonight?"

Eggsy can see it all too clearly – he'll park himself on the couch or bed, have room service send up a bottle or two of something, and he'll drink. It's what he does most nights, because the music is gone. "So, what do you recommend?"

"I have plenty of room for a house guest, so you can stay with me until CID clears you. Then we can leave for Scotland."

"Won't your wife have something to say about you bringing a house guest home? And then going away with him?"

Harry shakes his head, "No wife. And more relevantly, no husband. No boyfriend, partner or significant other."

The words finally penetrate. "You're queer?"

"As a three-pound note. Does that bother you?"

Eggsy looks at Harry and suddenly sees something unexpected - someone attractive and possible available. Someone who could push all of the right buttons if things were just a bit different. He pushes the thought away – Harry Hart is to posh and too out of his league. What would a man like that want with a failure like him. So Eggsy just focuses on the moment. "Nah. Not in the least."

"Good, I'd hate to make you uncomfortable for any reason."

Eggsy wonders how many times that's happened, and then he thinks, _yeah, bruv, you're making me uncomfortable, but for all the right reasons_ , but all he says is, "So, we're really doing this? You're going to try to help me get my music back?"

"I would like to, Eggsy. I look at you and see a young man filled with potential. I believe in you."

"Even when I can't believe in myself?"

Harry's smile is particularly fierce. "Especially then."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Eggsy head out of London and it's an easy, comfortable ride. Eggsy has his guitar and for the first time in a long while, has the urge to sing. Harry is charmed and delighted by Eggsy's talent. So much so that he shares a bit of his own background.
> 
> And oh, by the way, the hotel where they're spending the night, only has one room for them. And there's only one bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I have no control over this fic. It keeps throwing Elton John at me. And all the very best tropes.

Harry isn't quite sure what he's doing, taking Eggsy Unwin to a secluded estate in the Scottish Highlands. But he's certainly not going to let Eggsy know that. If he doesn't project an attitude of utter self-confidence, Eggsy is going to sense that something is wrong and he'll balk at Harry's plan. At the end, Eggsy will be worse off and Harry will never forgive himself. He'd let Eggsy go to ruin once, he's not going to let it happen again.

"You've got everything you need?"

Eggsy comes out of the small room at the back of the apartment, the one where he's tried to write music, to practice, to be something more than yesterday's pop sensation. But he'd told Harry that he'd never been able to write a note in there and eventually, it had become a place he'd avoided.

It was, however, the room where he'd stored his favorite guitar and he'd wanted to take that with him. "Yeah. Got my sweet beauty here, all I need."

Harry is buoyed by the positive note in Eggsy's voice. In the three days since he'd taken Eggsy home from the hospital, the young man had bounced between utter despair and almost manic happiness. The flip-flopping had worried Harry to the point where he'd thought Eggsy might need psychiatric intervention for bipolar mood disorder, but last night, Eggsy apologized and said a lot of the mood swings had been caused by anxiety and the new sobriety. "But it's gonna be good, Harry. Getting out of London, away from all the bad memories. Spoke to my mum last night, told her everything and she said she'd felt the same way when she was getting ready to go back to Wales. So I guess it's normal and I'm sorry for driving you up the wall."

Harry had assured Eggsy that he was simply worried - not angry or upset by the mood swings. "If you feel unsteady or uneasy, we'll get you the help you need."

"Yeah, thanks. And I trust you, Harry. More than I've ever trusted anyone."

Harry had been shocked at that confession. 

"We should go?" Eggsy bites his lip and shifts from foot to foot. "Gonna be a bitch getting out of London no matter what the time."

Harry offers to take the guitar, but Eggsy holds it close. When the get to the street, Eggsy asks if Harry would mind if he keeps it up front.

Harry's delighted by the question. "Not at all. There's plenty of room." That's an understatement - the Range Rover is a bit of an embarrassment here in London. They could fit an entire marching band in the passenger space and still have room for an extra pair of tubas.

"Good. I've neglected her for a long time, and I thought maybe I could noodle a bit on the drive, if it wouldn't make you crazy."

"To tell you the truth, Eggsy, nothing would make me happier."

Eggsy hadn't been wrong about getting out of London, but once they were on the motorway, heading north, the driving is smooth. About twenty miles outside of Oxford, Eggsy opens the guitar case and takes out his instrument, tuning it with easy familiarity. He hits a chord and hums, and to Harry's surprise, the whole cabin fills with the sound of a bright major note.

"Huh, what do you know, Range Rover cabins are acoustically tuned." Eggsy hits a minor chord and there's a similar reverberation. Then he starts playing a piece of music that Harry has loved since he was barely a teenager.

_It's a little bit funny_  
_This feeling inside_

Eggsy's makes it through most of the song, but his fingers stumble on the last chorus. "Wow, haven't played like that since before the tour."

"Thank you for such a treat."

"Nothing to it, my mum had once been a fan. She met my dad at one of Elton's concerts and they played his music all the time when I was a little kid. At least until my dad was killed. Then she wouldn't ever play it again."

Harry can understand that. There's music he can no longer listen to because of some childhood traumas.

For the next hour, Eggsy plays bits and pieces of songs he'd taught himself over the years, some Beatles, some Who, a lot more Elton John, all of them classics. Even though Eggsy doesn't sing or even say much of anything, Harry can feel the happiness from Eggsy filling the SUV like morning sunlight.

About three hours on the road, Harry pulls over at a service area; they both need a chance to stretch their legs. A half-hour later, cups of mediocre coffee in the cup holders and a tank full of petrol, they are back on the highway. "You can nap if you'd like."

"You wouldn't mind? Thought we'd share the driving."

"We'll see how it goes. You've been through an ordeal, you should take it easy."

"Eh, driving is fun. I like driving. I think if the music doesn't come back, I'll become a long-distance lorry driver. Maybe move to Australia and drive those road trains across the Outback."

"That would be a terrible waste. You are a talented musician and the thought of you giving up makes me very angry." Harry feels himself blushing at the mawkishness of the sentiment.

Eggsy, of course, snipes back, "And god forbid that Harry Hart is angry."

"You wouldn't like me when I'm angry."

Eggsy chuckles. "Don't see you as a superhero movie fan."

"I'm not - was that a quote from something?" Harry lifts his chin and stares down the road, struggling to keep a smile off his face.

"Aw, bruv - you had me going there for a bit. Taking the piss, weren't you?"

"Yes, well, the Hulk has always been my favorite character."

They chat about the movies, which franchise is better, and the kilometers go by quickly. "I thought you'd wanted to take a nap."

"I did, but the bad coffee's keeping me awake. And I'll have to pee soon."

Of course, now that Eggsy's said something, Harry feels the urge as well. He checks the display on the SUV's in-dash system. "There's a rest area about thirty klicks away, can you maintain or shall I pull over?"

"Ta, but I'm good. Maybe I can drive afterwards?"

Harry is reluctant to give up control, but Eggsy sounds so plaintive that it's hard to deny him. 

Fifteen minutes later, they pull into the service center and make a bee-line for the gents. This time, they abstain from coffee and when they get back to the Rover, Harry tosses Eggsy the keys. He carefully shifts the guitar case to the back seat and adjusts the front passenger seat for his longer legs.

Harry half expects Eggsy to pull out of the service area like a bat out of hell, but Eggsy is rather cautious as he merges back onto the highway. He keeps to the speed limit for a while and then carefully increases until they are moving apace with the traffic. Harry relaxes and since Eggsy isn't inclined to chat at the moment, he pulls off his glasses and closes his eyes. Maybe it's the smooth road or Eggsy masterful driving, but Harry easily falls asleep. 

Harry dreams, a bizarre and almost profane narrative where he is fucking Eggsy on a concert stage in front of a vast, cheering audience. Eggsy isn't fighting him - on the contrary, he's an enthusiastic participant, begging for Harry's cock, for his come, he's on his knees and teasing Harry with his mouth and lips until Harry comes all over his face.

Harry's eyes snap open and he's disoriented. He's panting, his cock is achingly hard inside his trousers and he isn't even sure where he is or what has happened.

"You okay there, bruv?"

Shit, he's in the car with Eggsy. "Bad dream."

Eggsy gives a knowing little chuckle. "Didn't sound so bad, you were letting out these little moans, like you were really enjoying yourself, if you know what I mean."

"Maybe I was - but it didn't end well." Harry doesn't feel the least bit guilty about lying to Eggsy.

"Pity."

Harry checks the time – he'd only been asleep for about an hour. "How are you doing?"

"Doing okay, but won't be unhappy when we call it a night."

"I have reservations for us at a hotel in Carlisle. Which is - " Harry looks at the navigator, "about another hour to go. Do you want to switch over? I can drive the rest of the way."

"Nah, I'm good. As long as the nav is set to take us to the hotel, I'll get us there alive and in one piece."

Harry finds Eggsy's self-confidence - something he hadn't experience until now - almost as arousing as the dream. It's going to be a long hour until they get to Carlisle.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Eggsy doesn't quite know what to make of Harry. He'd swooped in like an avenging angel and just started fixing things - the police threats and potential drug charges, getting him out of the hospital and giving him a place to stay until the filth cleared out of his apartment, taking him out of London and away from the temptations of an empty life.

And he's not asking for anything in return. In the three days between his release from the hospital and getting permission to leave town, Eggsy had spent the afternoons hanging around Hart & Co., seeing how a talent management agency operates. He'd met Harry's partners - all of them nice blokes, even the scary-looking Scotsman - and got a sense that the place was really well-run, something that he'd never had seen during his few visits to Kingsman.

During discussions with Harry and the team at Hart & Co., Eggsy had made it clear that he wouldn't rush into a new management contract, and to his surprise, no one had pressured him about it. Harry had made it clear that they'd work for him - even without a contract - but they'd need that once the firm started talking with record labels.

Eggsy had asked the obvious question, "What if that never happens?"

Harry nodded, understanding Eggsy's concerns. "They we write off the expenses to good will. You won't owe us anything. But I believe in you, I see so much potential. Even if it takes a year - or more - I think you'll get to where you want to be."

"But no pressure, right?" Eggsy had been sarcastic.

"None at all." Harry's response had been utterly sincere. And even though Eggsy wasn't ready to sign a management deal with Hart & Co., he'd suggested that Eggsy let the firm get his money out from under Kingsman's control. Eggsy had agreed to the plan wholeheartedly. Not a good idea to let the man who'd tried to kill him keep control of his income. 

And now they are on a road trip to somewhere close to the end of the earth. Eggsy knows he's exaggerating, but Inverness is seriously far from everywhere else and closer to John o' Groats than he's ever wanted to be.

"You know, we could have done this trip in one day."

Harry makes a noncommittal noise. "I've driven from London to Inverness a hundred times, and most of the time, I do make the trip in a single day, but you're just out of hospital and I didn't want to push. Carlisle is a lovely little town, some nice restaurants, and the hotel is a favorite, so I figured we'd make it a leisurely drive and finish the trip before lunchtime tomorrow. Unless you'd rather push on after dinner?"

"I don't mind stopping, don't mind going on."

"Let's keep the reservations. If we push on, we'll get in very late and it wouldn't be fair to keep the staff up."

"Staff? There's staff?" Eggsy had been thinking they'd be staying in a small vacation cottage, the kind that's been smartly redone with plenty of mod-cons. But small vacation cottages don't have staff.

"A house manager and a land steward, who live on the premises. The cook and the maid are daily help, since I'm not in residence most of the year."

"Do you pay them, though? When you're not there?" Eggsy finds himself unreasonable concerned. When he'd been at the top of the charts, he'd been in a few posh houses where the staff had been treated like shite. 

"Of course!" Harry sounds outraged at the very idea. "Just because I don't live there doesn't mean they don't have jobs."

"Okay, sorry – just, well – my experience with people who have servants isn't the best. They usually treat them like they're invisible or disposable. Like crap. It's usually a status thing, something to show off to all their rich friends."

"Ah, the curse of the nouveau riche and utterly inexcusable. But you can rest easily – Lara and Kenyon are like family to me. Kenyon's father had been the groundskeeper and Lara's mother had been the housekeeper. They are childhood friends who fell in love when they'd gone to university and instead of making their lives in the wider, busier world, then came home to Achnagairn." Harry sighs. "When I was growing up and spending the summers in estate, they were my best friends. At least until I fancied myself in love with Kenyon."

Eggsy doesn't know whether to laugh or commiserate. "That must have made things kind of awkward."

"Oh yes it did. Kenyon was sixteen, I was twelve. He didn't know what to do with the small, awkward boy – the Lady's son – trailing after him like a poorly trained hound."

"Twelve? You' knew you were gay when you were twelve?"

"Hmmm, pretty much so. Needless to say, my parents had not been happy - mostly because they thought it would be a rough and lonely life."

"What did they do?"

"You have to remember that this was the early Seventies and attitudes had been very different. At the advice of one of my father's colleagues, there had been a brief stint at a highly rigorous boys' school in the Peak District – which is absolutely the wrong environment for getting the gay out. What with all those healthy young male bodies getting ordered about …"

Eggsy feels himself getting warm at the image Harry paints.

"Like I said, it had been a brief stay there. My parents, not really convinced that a harsh school environment was the right place for me, came up for a visit during the first term and met my roommates. Let’s just say that I did not finish the semester. They took me home, found a psychiatrist who said he could talk the gay out of me. When I told them about the man's 'methods', they put a stop to the therapy."

"What did he do to you?"

Harry grimaces. "Quite a bit of 'aversion' therapy – showing me pictures of naked men engaged in sex acts and then shouting at me. Made me take off my clothes and called me a disgusting pervert."

"Jesus." Eggsy's horrified that anyone would do that to a little kid. But on the other hand, had he told Dean and his mum that he was gay, Dean would have drowned him in the bathtub. Or, more likely, sold him for a few quid down on Smith Street. Eggsy isn't going to tell Harry that – he isn't out and there's no reason for Harry to know he's gay. "What happened after that?"

"They'd pulled some strings and got me a place at Winchester for Spring Term. Before I left, my father told me to keep it in my pants until I was at least sixteen, not to mess around with staff or anyone who could possibly think I'd ruin their lives if they said no, and to always be a gentleman – in bed and out of it. My mother had been a bit more practical – she was a doctor, and talked to me about STDs – this was a bit before the AIDS crisis. At the end of that discussion, she'd sighed and said, 'well, at least we don't have to worry about you getting a girl pregnant'. Which had been a weird thing to say to a twelve-year-old, but that had been very much in keeping with my mother's personality. Very caring, but she didn't coddle and hide the truth."

Eggsy laughs, "Other than that bit with the conversion therapy, your folks sound right awesome."

"They were. And I don't think they'd meant any harm with the therapy. Like I said, it was the early Seventies and the ink hadn't been dry on the laws decriminalizing homosexuality. They didn't want me to suffer, but eventually realized that if they'd continued to deny the truth, I'd suffer so much more."

The navigator announces their arrival in Carlisle and Eggsy concentrates on following the directions until they pull up at the hotel. Now, Eggsy can tell that Harry ain't the kind of guy who would stay in a Days Inn or Travelodge, but he wasn't expecting this. "It's a fucking palace, Harry." Of course he's stayed in grand hotels, but it's been a while and his ego had never gotten so inflated that he'd taken such things in stride. At heart, he's still a council boy.

"No, not really." Eggsy can hear the laughter in Harry's voice.

"Yeah, it is." Two valets come from the hotel and opens the car doors. Eggsy gets out and stares at the façade. Okay, it's not quite a palace. But it's pretty fucking grand. "The Crown and Mitre, that sounds pretty posh."

"It's a nice place to take a break."

"You've stayed here before?" 

"Of course. Back in the olden times, when we travelled by coach and six, this was where we'd have the horses changed." Harry heads for the door, his tone is so blasé, it takes a moment for Eggsy to realize that he's taking the piss.

Eggsy trails after Harry; a uniformed doorman bows slightly and pulls open the front door. The lobby is the definition of posh, and while Eggsy has certainly stayed in four and five-star hotels during his heyday, there's something about this place – maybe the age and gracious décor – that makes it seem nicer than any of those other hotels.

A woman in a suit the same color as the valet and doorman uniforms approaches, carrying a tablet. "Mr. Hart, welcome back to the Crown and Mitre." She gestures to a small seating area.

They take their seats and wait while a server approaches with a tea cart. The woman asks Eggsy how he likes his tea and fixes a perfect cup, which he sips with gratitude.

All of the niceties performed, Harry asks, "Is there a problem, Gloria?"

"Yes, and I'm very sorry, Mr. Hart. We did have you and your companion booked in the two-bedroom suite, but unfortunately, those accommodations are not available tonight. A large party arrived and had been very vocal about their need for two bedrooms. The employee working the front desk had been all too susceptible to bribery, and gave them your reservation. But she did put you in the room with a king-sized four-poster bed."

Harry nods. "I do have fond memories of that room."

Eggsy has to wonder who Harry had shared it with.

"Of course, the employee has been terminated and your stay at the hotel will be adjusted for the inconvenience. If it's still a problem …" Gloria trails off delicately.

Harry looks at Eggsy, one eyebrow raised in question.

Eggsy shrugs and says, "I'm good if you are." He'd spent six months sharing a pull-out couch with his baby sister after Dean had been hauled off to prison; Eggsy had given up his bedroom when they'd taken in borders because they couldn't afford the rent otherwise. So he won't have any problems sharing an enormous king size bed with Harry.

"Then it's settled. We'll take the room."

Gloria smiles, clearly relieved that they hadn't gotten angry. "Your meals will be comped, of course."

"Thank you."

She hands Harry a folder with the room key and signals for the porter minding their luggage. "The Four-Poster Suite, Edward."

Yeah, this is nice. The level of attention and service definitely ranks up there with the Burj Al Arab Jumeirah or the Atlantis on Paradise Island in the Bahamas, but this feels more authentic, not like the staff is waiting for huge tips and selfies with the celebrity of the moment.

Of course Harry tips the porter and so does Eggsy; Edward, a pimply-faced twenty -something with flaming orange-red hair and a serious overbite, thanks them profusely and bows so low he almost face plants into the floor.

After the door shuts behind the kid, Harry apologizes. "Sorry for the cock-up. I'll take the couch."

While the couch in question is almost the size of a twin bed, Eggsy shakes his head. "Nope, not necessary. The bed is big enough for an orgy with room left over; don't see any reason why we can't share it."

"Eggsy – "

He hears a wealth of warning in the way Harry says his name. "Are you worried because you're queer? Thought you were a gentleman?"

"I am, but I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

"I won't be. Sacked out with my mates plenty of times and nothing happened." Eggsy's feeling just the tiniest bit guilty in letting Harry think his friends are the ones who are bent, not him.

"All right, then. But for the record, I do have no issue in taking the couch."

"Duly noted." Eggsy's stomach picks an opportune time to rumble. "Now, what about dinner?"

Carlisle is a pretty little city, with wide, tree-lined sidewalks. They are far enough north that although it's close to eight, it seems more like late afternoon than early evening.

"What are you in the mood for?"

"Anything, to be honest. Not fussy, either. But wouldn't mind someplace with outdoor seating, it's too nice to be inside."

"I agree." Harry steers them over to a café with a generous number of tables on the sidewalk.

Once upon a time, Eggsy hadn't been able to go out in public like this; not without bodyguards and a whole entourage of caretakers and minders whose job it had been to keep the public at bay or only let the prettiest of the girls in close enough to touch, depending on the situation. It's been years since Eggsy's had any sort of celebrity status and honestly he doesn't miss it. It's nice to sit outside and not have to worry about a bunch of creepy stalking paparazzi just waiting to catch him doing something questionable.

So, when they are in the middle of their meal, Eggsy is completely shocked when someone squeals and grabs his sleeve. "Are ye Gary? Gary Unwin?"

It's a girl, about thirteen or fourteen, chubby and spotted and definitely the kind of fan his minders once would have kept away from him. The girl's enthusiasm is genuine and Eggsy can't help but respond to it. He smiles and nods. "Yeah, I am."

She blathers something about how _So Delightful_ , the song that made him a star, will always be her absolute favorite and meeting him is the best moment of her life. Eggsy glances over at Harry, who smiles in approval.

"Would you like a selfie with me?"

She squeals again and hands him her phone, which he gives to Harry. They stand and pose and Eggsy even pecks her on the cheek. He signs something, then something else, then the girl's mum comes over and there are more pictures. They apologize for interrupting his dinner and drift away. Eggsy's aware that the other diners have been watching and a few had recorded the whole thing

When they retake their seats, Harry says, "You handled that well."

Eggsy shrugs. "Doesn't cost anything and I'd rather make some kid's day than deal with the boobilicious babes that Chester would always set up as camera bait."

"Boobilicious babes?" 

"Yeah, you know who those are – the girls with big tits and tiny shirts who you send pose next to the rock star du jour. They get paid in 'exposure' on Instagram."

"We don't do that at Hart & Co." Harry seems mildly offended by the idea. "But anyway, it seems that you still have some fans."

"I guess." Eggsy toys with the food on his plate, his appetite gone. "There might be some fallout from this. People were recording."

"Don't worry. I've already texted the office to watch for anything that shows up on social media."

"They'll do damage control?"

"I don't think there's any damage to control. That was a very positive encounter – a young fan that approached you, and you treated her with the utmost respect. That's true star power. Celebrities can be assholes, stars shine brightly."

Eggsy feels all kinds of itchy from Harry's praise, like he needs something to take the edge off. But that ain't happening. No coke, no weed, no booze. That had been his agreement with Harry and what kind of man would he be if he went back on his word before the end of the first day.

"Do you want to head back to the hotel or go for a walk?"

The idea of a little exercise sounds good. "I wouldn't mind stretching my legs, truthfully."

By the time then get back to the hotel, the itch is still there, and a bit worse actually for all of the approving looks Harry gives him. Eggsy wonders just what's going on in Carlisle. Three more teenage girls, a as many college age birds, and two grandmothers stop to ask him for autographs and selfies.

Harry seems to find the situation funny. "You are quite the sensation."

Eggsy, though, has his suspicions about what's going on. "Did you pay for this shit, for all these people to approach me? Is this why we stopped here for the night?"

"Not at all, my dear boy. Those encounters are with honest to goodness fans. You should treasure them."

"I do, but it's weird, okay? Like it's been years since anyone's stopped me on the streets and now it's like happening on every corner."

"Well, you do live in London, and the only group of people more blasé about celebrity than Londoners are New Yorkers. I'm sure that you'll experience something similar in Inverness."

Eggsy scratches his cheek and tries not to feel a bit overwhelmed, the itchiness looking for a scratch, a hunger that aches to be fed.  "So I guess I'll need to lie low and it's not like I'm going to be spending a lot of time in the big city. I'm supposed to be living a healthy life away from temptation - that's the whole point of this trip, ain't it? So I can find my music again." It all feels so impossible. He ain't going to find his music, he's just going to drag Harry and everyone down, disappoint them…

"Eggsy, what's wrong."

"Nothing. Nothing. Just tired." He ain't going to tell Harry about the itch.

Harry stares at him, like he's trying to read his mind or something, but he doesn't say a word.

"Gonna go take a quick shower, 'kay?" 

"Of course, and no need to be quick. Unlike most hotels of this age, the water pressure is good and the hot water plentiful. I do have some work to take care of, so it will be a while before I'm ready for bed."

Eggsy grabs his stuff from his overnight bag and head into the bathroom. He turns on the shower and as he waits for the water to come up to temperature, he strips out of his clothes and stares at himself in the mirror. Eggsy doesn't seem to recognize the man in the mirror – the face is familiar but the eyes seem different. The man staring back at him seems so old, so angry. When Dean had been around, anger had been a constant companion. So had fear. But this is different. Eggsy's angry at the world, at himself. At everything he's wasted.

The itch, the hunger, is getting stronger and Eggsy thinks about the minibar he'd spotted when he looked around the room.  He could just go back out there, grab a few of the little bottles and have himself a party. What would Harry do? Tackle him? Tell him that they are going back to London and Eggsy can just go waste the rest of his life?

But Harry isn't the kind of guy who'll give up so easily. Hadn't he said that he'd fought so hard to keep him from Chester that he'd lost his job?  Hadn't he come running as soon as he'd heard about Eggsy's predicament and is helping him get clean, and helping him get his music back without asking for anything in return? Isn't Harry a gentlemen to his very soul? He'd probably just look at Eggsy in disappointment, sigh and say something pithy about setbacks and tomorrow being a new day.

Eggsy still doesn't understand it. But he likes the feeling – likes how Harry looks at him with approval. Yeah, it makes him itchy and uncomfortable, but it also makes him warm in all kinds of ways.

Ways he shouldn't be if he's going to share a bed with the man tonight.

Well, there are ways of taking care of the immediate danger. He pulls his toiletries out and finds the large bottle of unscented shower gel, his go-to for a wet wank.  The hot water feels good on his skin and after he takes care of the necessary hygiene, Eggsy gets to work. The gel is cool, and for a few moments, that deflates things, but imagination trumps sensation and Eggsy easily works himself back to full hardness.

At first, Eggsy pulls the usual images from his spank bank, the older, larger, but faceless man seducing him with sweet words and gentle touches. He watches himself as his dream-partner kisses him, and this is where pure fantasy and potential reality collide. The man is no longer a blank canvas, but Harry Hart, and he's worshiping Eggsy like a god.

Eggsy's watched enough porn to know what pushes his buttons, and despite Harry's face on his dream lover's body, Eggsy lets the fantasy follow its well-worn path. Dream Eggsy gets to his knees and mouths his lover's cock, licking and sucking and teasing until dream Harry yanks sharply on his hair and tells him to get to work.

Eggsy strokes his cock as the water pours over him and the fantasy of himself on his knees in front of Harry builds to an extremely satisfying climax. He bites his lip as his climax hits him, ropes of white come splashing against the tile walls.

As Eggsy waits for the water to wash the evidence away, he's visited by another fantasy, another one starring Harry, who is disappointed in Eggsy's lack of control. The water is still plentiful and warm and Eggsy reaches for his bottle of shower gel again, and something dark and dangerous spills out behind his eyelids. Harry is stern and commanding, making Eggsy face the wall as Harry toys with his body, keeping him on edge. The fantasy gets more elaborate as Eggsy reaches back and toys with his own asshole, imaging Harry's fingers doing all kinds of nasty things to him.   Things he's only seen in porn, things that no one else has ever done to him.

He comes for a second time, the orgasm both weaker and yet more intense. Eggsy rubs the come off the wall, steps out of the shower, letting the water run for a few more minutes until everything is down the drain. He puts on one of the complimentary robes and collapse onto the bench, literally weak at the knees.

On one hand, he's definitely tapped out; there ain't no way he's going to pop wood when he's in bed tonight. More importantly, the itch – the one that make him long for the oblivion of alcohol or the buzz from a hit of coke – is gone. 

But Eggsy's also in deep trouble. Harry's now the superstar of his fantasies, so how is he going to spend the next few weeks living with him without going mad or making a serious mistake.

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	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin has a bit of interesting information for Harry - Chester's motives in terminating Eggsy's contract. But of more importance is the single bed that Harry and Eggsy will be sharing that night.
> 
> All of Harry's skills as a gentleman will be tested when Eggsy turns into an octopus in the middle of the night.

Harry idly looks at the time and realizes that Eggsy's been in the shower for nearly a half-hour. On one hand, he's a bit concerned, but on the other, he suspects that Eggsy isn't taking so long because he's fastidious about personal hygiene.

Well, Eggsy's a young man and young men have needs.

_So do older men…_

Harry's going to have to take himself in hand before getting into bed – the dream from this afternoon is suddenly a vivid memory and Harry finds himself getting aroused. He turns his attention back to the budget spreadsheet from the office and that takes care of the problem for the moment. 

The sound of the shower goes quiet and Harry listens carefully for Eggsy's movements. Soon enough, the door opens and Eggsy emerges, wearing a pair of soft cotton running shorts and an equally soft looking t-shirt. The shirt is so thin that Harry can see the admirable definition in Eggsy's torso, not to mention the sharp points of his nipples.

All the good work that the budget spreadsheet had done in quelling his libido is undone. The boy is damp and pink and the personification of temptation in what must pass for sleepwear in the under-fifty set. Harry definitely does not look at the fabric clinging to damp skin; he certainly does not notice how the cotton outlines a nice, meaty cock and an ass that could have been the subject of epic poetry in the days of Homer. No, Harry pays no attention to the thighs fit for a marble frieze or the chest and arms that could make even the most stoic of men weep from desire. 

Because none of these delights are for him. Eggsy is someone Harry needs to protect – from a world that would treat him with cruelty and disdain and from the bad habits created by Chester's mismanagement. Eggsy isn't someone Harry can fuck and walk away from.

"Going to get into bed, is that okay?"

Harry swallows hard and smiles, "Certainly."

"Any side you'd rather have? I kind of prefer the one closest to the door."

"No, I'm good with either, so you can take your pick."

"Ta - you're the best."

Eggsy gets into bed and has his phone on. Harry can here the faint pings and pops of a game - Candy Crush, if he's not mistaken. Harry has certainly indulged in hours of that mindless entertainment that is conversely stimulating and soothing. 

He's not anxious to get ready for bed. It'll be easier once Eggsy falls asleep. He'll take a shower, have a quick wank - at his age, he's one and done - and have a decent night's sleep. It's another four hours from here to the relative safety of a large estate with a dozen bedrooms, unless they take the scenic route, which can add two additional hours to the trip. He'll leave that decision to Eggsy in the morning.

Harry's phone chimes with an incoming text, it's from Merlin asking if they can talk. Harry types back. _Does this need privacy?_

_Aye._

"Eggsy, I need to step out for a call."

"Yeah, no problem. I'm pretty beat and going to turn off the light in in a bit."

Harry pats his pockets and makes sure he has the room key before going into the hallway. He calls Merlin, who picks up on the first ring. "What's going on?"

_"Couple of things – you know your boy was out and about in Carlisle tonight?"_

"Of course I know, I was with him. He had some nice fan encounters."

_"Oh, good – thought he'd gone on walkabout without ye. There's a bunch of videos of Gary Unwin interacting with fans. Ye did a good job of staying out of frame. They're getting a decent amount of hits."_

"What do you mean by decent?"

_"There's one with him at the girl at the restaurant that has about ten thousand so far – whoever shot it know what they're doing and set it to So Delightful. The others are doing alright – about five thousand hits collectively."_

Harry's pleased by the news. "That's good – it's only been about three hours since we had dinner. Any comments?"

_"Yeah, and almost exclusively positive. Of course, there are some trolls wondering why anyone would be interested in a has-been like Gary Unwin, but they're getting drowned out. Yer boy still has star power."_

"Thank you for letting me know. I'd meant to check the usual social media sites, but had gotten distracted by your budget spreadsheets."

Merlin laughs. 

"Now, why do we really need to talk?" Merlin usually wouldn't bother him for something like this – he'd let Amelia update him in the morning.

_"I've gotten some insight into what's going on at Kingsman. Chester fired half the finance department this morning, and it seems that I'm remembered quite fondly there. I'd gotten no less than seven calls today – three of them before I finished my first cup of coffee."_

Harry knows that Merlin – being Merlin – will drag this out. "Cut to the chase."

_"When ye think about it, Chester cutting Eggsy loose doesn't make sense. Even if they don't want to put effort into marketing him, it'd be more to Kingsman's advantage to keep him tied up. And whatever ye can say about Chester King, ye can't say he's a stupid man."_

"So, there was a reason for what he'd done."

_"He had a life insurance policy on the lad. Paid for and payable to Kingsman Artists, PLC."_

"That, in and of itself isn't all that unusual. Hart & Co. has policies on several clients."

_"Not ones that will pay ten million for death by misadventure. The policy on Eggsy doesn't include any of the usual exclusions, like drug or alcohol misuse, and Kingsman paid a pretty penny for that rider."_

"You've seen the policy?"

_"I had lunch with Dinesh and Sura. They gave me the file."_

Harry lets out a deep breath. "Have you reached out to Roxy?"

_"Gave a copy of the file to Gideon, who paid a call on Scotland Yard."_

"Good thinking, keep our hands out of it. Well, mostly. Chester will likely scream bloody murder when he finds out that Dinesh and Sura have talked."

_"I told the pair we can't give them positions at Hart & Co. until the matter is finished in the courts. But I've promised them personal recommendations if they can't wait and want to look elsewhere."_

"Add mine, too."

_"Figured ye'd say that."_

Harry's brain is whirling. "Anything else?"

_"Aye, Chester's fighting tooth and nail on the transfer of Eggsy's accounts. I've instructed the lawyers to plaster Kingsman with paperwork."_

Harry sighs. This is not going to be pretty.

"What else?"

_"Isn't this enough?"_

Harry ends the call and stares at his phone, but he doesn't really see it. Instead, he puts together the pieces. Chester had seen Eggsy as a valuable asset, but only if he was dead. Subtly ruining his career, underfunding the tour, failing to secure another deal with a recording label, then terminating the management contract – all designed to push Eggsy to the edge. Chester would definitely know about Eggsy's problems with drugs and alcohol, and it wouldn't be a stretch to find out who the boy's dealer is and make it worth their while to mix heroin in with the cocaine. Eggsy dies – from misadventure – and Kingsman gets a huge payout.

Harry goes back into the room. Eggsy's put his phone down and now seems to be sleeping. Watching the steady rise and fall of Eggsy's chest brings home just how tired Harry is. He grabs what he needs from his bag and heads to the bathroom. Instead of the leisurely wank he'd planned, Harry helps himself to the bottle of shower gel Eggsy had left behind and has a quick, workman-like wank. If he closes his eyes and imagines Eggsy on his knees, that perfect ass and thighs on display, well, who would know?

As the buzz of orgasm fades, Harry finishes washing up. When he gets out of the shower and dries off, he puts on his pajamas. It's something of a ritual for him. When he's home and by himself, he'll sleep in something not to different from what Eggsy has on – ancient running shorts and a tee-shirt that is probably older than Eggsy. But in a hotel, he prefers real pajamas – silk ones – on the off-chance that something might happen and he'll be seen by strangers. It's the equivalent of wearing clean underwear in case one gets hit by a bus.

Harry returns to the bedroom and thinks about sacking out on the couch. It's long enough to accommodate him, but it's a little soft, which would mean a restless night and an aching back in the morning. Besides, he knows his own body – the shower wank will ensure that he doesn't wake up to morning wood – and he's not a restless sleeper. More than one person has told him that he is so still when he sleeps, it's like sharing a bed with a corpse.

He gets into bed, the mattress as pleasingly firm as he remembers, and does his best to fall asleep. But the warm body, not more than two feet away, is making that difficult. Eggsy isn't precisely thrashing about, but he's always moving – feet twitching under the covers, shifting the pillow he's hugging, pulling the covers over his shoulder.

_This is a bad idea_.

Harry changes his mind about the couch and goes to push back the covers. In that moment, Eggsy rolls over and the pillow he'd been hugging goes flying, his arms find Harry and he clings like a young monkey on his mother's back. Eggsy does something that pulls Harry closer and now Harry is Eggsy's pillow.

Harry tries to twitch himself free, but every time he moves, Eggsy clings that much tighter. It's almost like playing tug of war with a dog, the more he pulls away, the harder Eggsy pulls him back. Eggsy's breathing is too even, the sounds he makes are too contented for this to be some sadistic version of gay chicken. Harry resigns himself to a long and very sleepless night.

Except that sleep does come, and surprisingly easily. Harry doesn't remember dreaming, but when he wakes, he feels unusually well-rested, if a bit warm. Eggsy is still splayed over his torso, his cheek on Harry's shoulder.

It takes all his skill as a contortionist, which is minimal at best, to turn his head and check the bedside clock. It's barely seven AM, but it means he's had a solid six hours of sleep and he can disturb Eggsy without feeling too guilty. 

Before he can pull himself out of Eggsy's arms, the boy opens his eyes. "Harry?"

Harry smiles. "Good morning."

"Uh - did I sleep like this all night?"

"I'm afraid you found me to be a most comfortable pillow."

Eggsy sits up, looking like an cherub out of a child's storybook, or perhaps the very personification of temptation. Harry swallows and wills his cock to behave.

"Sorry about that. Probably a left over from when I would sleep with Daisy."

"Daisy?"

"Yeah, my baby sis. She liked to cuddle with me." Eggsy slides to the other side of the bed and hops to the floor. "Mind if I hit the bog first?"

"No, go right ahead." Harry lets out a sigh of relief when Eggsy closes the bathroom door behind him. Harry flips back the covers and looks at the tent in his pajamas, and says in disgust, "You're fifty-two years old, you're beyond this foolishness."

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	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Eggsy take the scenic route, and Harry introduces Eggsy to one of his guilty pleasures. 
> 
> No, not THAT.

Eggsy doesn't exactly run to the loo, but he makes sure he keeps his back to Harry. He's hard as a rock, there's a stain from the pre-come leaking out of his cock and he looks like some kind of sex fiend. It's a miracle the sheets had wrapped around his waist, and a bigger miracle he hadn't humped Harry's leg in his sleep.

He pulls down his shorts and gives his cock a hard wank, using spit for lube. He doesn't need more than a few strokes before emptying himself into the toilet. Eggsy can't remember the last time he woke up so aroused. Maybe it's the lack of drugs and booze in his bloodstream, maybe it's the novelty of waking up next to the object of his desires, or maybe it's just simple biology. Whatever, it's not going to happen again; he's not going to be sharing a bedroom with Harry at wherever they're heading to. 

Eggsy washes up and stares at himself in the mirror. Unlike last night, when he didn't recognize himself, this morning he sees himself all too clearly. He sees the man who's a liar and a fraud who couldn't find enough courage to tell an out and proud gay man that he's sharing a bed with a weaselly, closeted virgin.

Back in the bedroom, while Eggsy digs through his overnight bag for clean clothes, Harry heads for the bathroom, his own suitcase in hand. The moment is oddly wordless and Eggsy wonders just how badly he's embarrassed Harry. 

It's weird, how he'd clung to Harry all night; it's not like Eggsy's used to sharing a bed with another adult. Maybe he's just so touch-starved that he'd gravitated towards the nearest warm body. But nothing had happened and nothing ever would – not between him and Harry. Because as much as Eggsy finds he likes the idea of being with Harry, Harry ain't going to want to be with him. Even if Eggsy tells him that he's gay. 

Because Harry Hart's a classy guy who'd never go to bed with a client. Or a stupid chav who didn't have the common sense to walk away from a contract that he'd known was a bad deal. Or an addict trying to get his sobriety back. Harry's too smart for that.

Eggsy dresses and for lack of anything better to do, he takes out his guitar, tunes it, and does some basic finger exercises. The little bit he'd played yesterday had left his hands aching for hours afterwards, a painful reminder of how long it's been since he'd done anything more than pointless strumming. 

The exercises do not go well, he misses most of the chording and his picking is just horrendous, but Eggsy doesn't give up. He's always loved playing the guitar more than anything; his earliest dreams had been of studying at the Royal Academy and becoming a world-famous soloist. But there had never been the time or the money - and Dean certainly would have sabotaged any kind of effort like that. Eggsy's actual lessons had been more sporadic than regular. He's mostly self-taught, learning by ear and from YouTube videos.

He works at it until Harry comes out of the bathroom, fully dressed. 

"Sounding good, Eggsy."

"You need your hearing checked, mate – those were just exercises. And besides, I sound like crap. Weak and out of practice."

Harry tilts his head and stares for a moment. "You're right, and you don't need false praise. I'm just happy to hear you working at it."

"Appreciate the honesty, bruv. I got a long way to go, but as the saying goes, you gonna get nowhere until you take the first step."

"Exactly." Harry picks up the house phone. "Shall I order the full English or do you want something light before we head out?"

"Light? Don't like traveling on a full stomach, you know what I mean?"

"Certainly." 

Eggsy silently works on his fingering as Harry places the order for a Continental breakfast – croissants, juice, and coffee. He continues to practice while Harry does some work stuff on his laptop. It all feels real compatible, real comfortable, like they do this every day. As his fingers work the strings, Eggsy's mind wanders into a delightful domestic fantasy, where he and Harry are living a life of happy and boring domesticity. Eggsy plays in local clubs on Friday and Saturday nights, during the week he studies music at the Royal Academy, Harry's always so proud and loving, and Eggsy never feels that terrible itch. He doesn't need the booze or the coke because he's happy and he's loved, he hasn't surrendered his artistic integrity for more money than he'll ever need. Eggsy Unwin might never be a superstar again, but he'll own his soul…

The daydream is cut short by a knock on the door – it's room service. Eggsy put his guitar away and joins Harry at the table in front of the window.

He picks up the coffee cup, and puts it back down with a muttered invective. "Shit."

"What's the matter?"

Eggsy looks at his fingertips. "I've overdone it." He holds out his hands. "Lost all my calluses. Gonna have to rebuild." His fingertips are bright red and he can see blisters beginning to form. 

Harry just nods. And then he smiles.

Eggsy ducks his head and smiles back, understanding what isn't said. He feels at peace, despite this morning's weirdness. Harry believes in him, and right now, nothing else matters. Suddenly hungry, he tears into a croissant and smears jam onto a greasy fragment before shoving it into his mouth.

They are out of the hotel within an hour and when the valet brings the Range Rover around, Harry gets in on the passenger side. "The nav is programmed, and it's clear you can follow direction. I have to get a few emails out, so if you don't mind driving…"

Warmed by Harry's confidence in him, Eggsy gets behind the wheel and follows the computerized voice as it directs him back to the motorway. The miles go smoothly as they head north. Eggsy hums bits and snatches of tunes, none of them his own. It really is kind of weird how much he hates his own songs, even the ones he'd written before King had sunk his claws in and turned him into a five-minute pop sensation. Once, those songs had meaning for him, now they are bad reminders of everything that's gone wrong. Harry taps away on the laptop, occasionally checking something on his phone, oblivious to Eggsy's turmoil. 

A little more than an hour on the road, they bypass Glasgow and Harry suggests they go north through Loch Lomand National Park. "It will add about two hours to the journey, but the time spent is well worth it. It means we'll travel along Loch Lomand itself, and then Loch Tay. We'll swing east and stop in Perth for lunch before we go north again."

"Loch Lomand, ain't there a song about that?"

"There most certainly is. It's one of the great Scottish classics. Shall I find it for you?"

"Yeah, sure." Eggsy expects Harry to pull out his phone and call up the song like any reasonable person, but he doesn't. He starts fiddling with the car stereo, and soon some weirdly familiar music fills the car.

_By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes_  
Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond  
Where me and my true love spent many happy days  
On the bonnie bonnie banks of Loch Lomond 

The singer has a magnificent voice – it would be mesmerizing if the lyrics weren't so familiar they'd become banal.

The song comes to an end and Harry turns the stereo off. 

"Well." Eggsy doesn't know what else to say.

Harry's laughing at him. "You did say you wanted to hear it."

"You're the one who has it on your Spotify."

"It's actually worse, it's not Spotify, but my old iPod. There's not a lot of radio in the wilds, it won't come back until we're closer to Inverness. The CD player is actually hooked into an iPod. Since the cellular service is weak here, and going to get quite a bit weaker in a couple of miles, I had a bit of - and I can't believe I'm calling it this old fashioned tech - built in to the stereo system, just for this stretch of Scotland."

"That doesn't explain why you've got that bit of treacle on your iPod."

"You'll laugh at me when I tell you." Harry grins at him.

"Swear down, I won't."

"When I'm not in a rush, I like taking the scenic route and a lot of the great Highland features along the way have been memorialized in song. Not only Loch Lomond, but Loch Tay, Loch Ness, Ben Nevis, Ben Lars, Culloden Moor, and I have a playlist with the songs that celebrate those places."

"You are a big fucking nerd, Harry Hart."

Harry laughs. "I won't deny that." 

Nor can Eggsy deny that the scenery is beautiful, especially the road that travels alongside Loch Lomand. The song might be old fashioned crap, but Eggsy understands the sentiment now.

About a half-hour in, Harry makes a frustrated noise; he powers down and packs his laptop away and tucks his phone into his pocket. "Service is mostly gone. It's fine for telephone calls, but not data. I hope I live long enough to see high speed data implemented in the wilds."

Eggsy frowns. "Doesn't this fancy thing have mobile wifi?"

"It does, but it has to get the signal from somewhere, and there's simply no coverage out here. It's like traveling through the American badlands or across Siberia. Without the infrastructure, there's nothing for the car's receivers to latch onto. And the thin population up here means there's little incentive for the government to make the upgrades."

Eggsy thinks about that for a bit. "Sort of like capitalism, you know? Except instead not having enough people buying the service, there ain't enough voters to make happy."

"Good point, my boy. I hadn't thought of it like that, but you're absolutely correct."

Eggsy drops his shoulders and lifts his chin, feeling all kinds of pride. He might not have been an A+ student with a dozen GSCEs on his record, but he's not a moron. Okay, he had been an A+ student in the subjects he'd liked, but had been crap at math and science.

To pass the time, Eggsy hums bits and snatches of tunes, none of them his own. It really is kind of weird how much he hates his own songs, even the ones he'd written before King had sunk his claws in and turned him into a five-minute pop sensation. Once, those songs had meaning for him, now they are bad reminders of everything that's gone wrong.

Fed up with the sound of his own voice, he asks, "You've got anything else on that iPod?"

"I've got a lot – what do you want."

"Any real Scottish stuff?"

"You're interested in trad?"

"Trad?"

"Traditional Celtic – it's a relatively new term. World music and roots music have become corrupted and commercialized. Not that the sounds are bad, but there's a distinction that should be made."

"Yeah, okay. If you've got some trad, I'm up for it."

Harry scrolls through the list displayed on the center console and picks something. He isn't kidding about traditional; the next track is just as old – or maybe older – than _Loch Lomond_ , but it's far more authentic – a lovely, low-key version of the most Scottish of songs, _Auld Lang Syne_. Eggsy had thought he'd known this piece - it's sung at New Year's all over the world, but he really doesn't. It's brilliant and sad and there are verses he's never heard. There's a lump in Eggsy's throat by the time the song ends.

As that song ends, something a bit lighter comes on, and Eggsy asks, "Who was that singing?"

"Dougie MacLean - pretty much Scotland's national singer. You've probably heard his most famous song, _Caladonia_. It's been covered by a number of artists." Harry hums a bit.

"Yeah, I think I recognize it – a beer commercial?"

"Yes. It's actually not my favorite song of his; there sentiment is real, but the tune is a bit banal and overly sentimental."

"A bit like _Loch Lomond_?"

"Exactly, but I have his complete works; when we get to Achnagairn, you can listen to them and form your own opinion."

"Ta, that would be great. Do you know him, personally?"

"Somewhat. Our paths have crossed a few times at festivals. He's one of the very few artists I know of who's made a success out of their own independent label. He's perfectly content with his own small audience and has no interest in representation or having professional marketing. Took him almost a decade before he'd let his music go digital, and even now, he keeps producing physical CDs."

"Huh, sounds a bit old fashioned, but if it works for him…"

Harry says, laconically. "I believe he has an OBE."

Eggsy can't restrain his snort of laughter. "So, I guess it does."

The next few hours of their road trip are spent talking about music. Eggsy lets Harry pick through the trad playlist, finding songs and groups he thinks will appeal to Eggsy, and Eggsy's surprised at how spot on Harry is about the music he thinks Eggsy will like.

Eggsy's also surprised at how fine Harry's voice is. He's got good pitch and tone, and while there's absolutely no hint of Scots in his speaking voice, a bit of it comes through when he's singing along with the music on the stereo.

Eggsy struggles a bit with the Celtic words, and that annoys him. He can sing Welsh just fine, but the unfamiliar Scots Gaelic is going to take a bit of getting used to. When the music switches to an instrumental piece, he asks Harry if he actually speaks the language.

"A little bit. More that I can understand it when it's spoken or sung. My mother may have been Scots, but she was of a class and a time that considered the local language and custom to be beneath her. She'd gone to school in England, her elocution had been as crisp as the Queen's, and had been more horrified at my own interest in Highland custom and culture than she'd been about my sexuality. Kenyon and Lara had been my secret teachers, and Merlin – of course – keeps me as fluent as I'll ever be, lowlander that he is."

"Merlin's not from around here?" Eggsy likes the scary man who runs Hart & Co.'s day-to-day operations, his no-nonsense personality and wry sense of humor off-set the impact of his intense murder face.

"Oh, no, Merlin's Glaswegian. And to a Highlander, that makes him practically English. We met in university and when an opportunity had opened up for a finance analyst at Kingsman, I'd recommended him. Chester had almost refused to interview him, said he wouldn't trust a thieving schemie anywhere near his books."

"Oi, what a fuckhead!" Eggsy's hating Chester all over again.

"I told him I'd walk if he didn't apologize and hire Merlin."

"And he did? Why?" Eggsy can't picture Chester giving into pressure like that.

"It's all about status to Chester; he had treasured the idea of having someone with my background working for Kingsman. He hides it, but Chester's just one generation from a South London working class family, and instead of taking pleasure in his rise to wealth and prominence, he hides it."

"So, you really aree a posh bloke? Got a title?"

"Posh, yes I guess so. Title, no and thank goodness. They are useless things, good for nothing except impressing the lads down at the local. My father had been an architect, but did mostly restoration work. He'd hated the Brutalist style and almost all post-War construction. So he'd focused on slowing the rush to demolish so much of the classical architecture that had been damaged during the Blitz. There had been a time when I thought about following in his footsteps."

"What changed your mind?"

"I hated maths. Hard to get a certificate in the field without some pretty hardcore maths."

Eggsy chuckles. "Me, too. Hated maths, barely passed the GSCE." 

"We are quite the pair, it seems."

Harry's words, this acknowledged connection about something so silly, give Eggsy a warm, happy feeling. "How much longer to our destination?"

Harry checks the display on the sat nav. "At the current rate of speed and if we don't stop along the way, about another two hours."

"Those things are accurate?"

"Surprisingly so."

They are about to pass through a small village and Eggsy checks the fuel level. "We're getting low on petrol and wouldn't mind a chance to stretch my legs. Are you all right if we pull off for a bit?"

"Not at all."

Eggsy maneuvers the Range Rover into a filling station at the edge of town and Harry tells him he'll take care of it. Eggsy's grateful for the courtesy and gets the key for the gents. He takes care of business, returns the key and goes for a walk. It's a pretty town, with roses blooming along the roadside. There's a tiny string of stores - a chemist, a consolidated butcher, green grocer, and bakery, a hardware store and of course, a liquor store.

Eggsy stares at the liquor store and feels surprisingly disinterested in it. He's more interested in what the grocer and baker have to offer. Lunch in Perth was a few hours ago, but driving is hard work and he wouldn't mind something sweet. He hits the jackpot, the bakery has a fresh tray of lemon shortbread and another of fruit tarts. Eggsy gets a few of each, plus a couple of bottles of water, and heads back to the car. He feels oddly triumphant, like this sobriety thing isn't going to be all that hard.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The music mentioned:
> 
> [Loch Lomond](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p0KQLJwMDzc) \- Peter Hollens  
> [Loch Tay Boat Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eGxG03VlazE) \- Silly Wizard  
> [Caladonia](https://youtu.be/wP8A9rtg0iI) \- Dougie MacLean  
> [Auld Lang Syne](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i_eoiRvdp-A) \- Dougie MacLean


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Eggsy arrive at Achnagairn, Harry's mother's ancestral home, and Harry hopes it will provide the sanctuary and healing that Eggsy needs.

It's an odd thing, but Harry doesn't think of himself as a Scotsman; he's a Londoner, born and bred, and while he'd spent his summers holidays at Achnagairn until he'd finished university, he can't imagine calling himself anything but an Englishman.

And yet, he has a deep love for Scotland - the music and the language and the culture. Kenyon calls him a latter-day Queen Victoria, who had loved the trappings of Scotland but had no affinity for what makes a Scot a Scot. Harry can't disagree with that.

But national identity doesn't really matter, does it? He understands his duty to the estate and the people who inhabit it, and if he'd tried to explain that to Eggsy, the boy would laugh and call him milord and probably tell him he was born with a silver spoon up his ass. Or maybe Eggsy would actually understand. The young man is smart and savvy and sees beneath the shiny, polished surface of things.

Harry is still infuriated that Chester deliberately ruined Eggsy. Even if Kingsman goes under and Harry comes in like a white knight and rescues the firm, on the condition that Chester goes to hell, that's not going to make up for the lost years, the damage done to Eggsy. His confidence is almost non-existent, his music and skills have suffered, and he's going to spend the rest of his life dealing with addiction.

Harry should have fought harder, should have taken Chester to court instead of running away. He owes Eggsy a huge debt and it's going to take a lifetime to repay it.

Leaning against the Rover's bonnet and on the lookout, Harry sees the young man loping up the street, a grocery bag in hand, and his heart drops. Harry had forgotten about the liquor store a few blocks away. 

Eggsy holds up the bag, and says with a cheeky grin, "Hope you like shortbread, and if you don't, I've got fruit tarts, too. They smell fucking awesome, but I don't want to eat all of them by myself."

"Fruit tarts?"

"Yeah, there's a bakery a ways up that way," Eggsy points over his shoulder. "Feeling a mite peckish, thought I'd get us a snack. Unless you're one of those blokes who won't let anyone eat in your ride."

Harry finally realizes that Eggsy hasn't bought booze. "I've actually never stopped at that bakery."

Eggsy offers the bag to Harry, who takes one of the shortbread biscuits. It's fresh and rather yummy, a perfect midday snack. The tarts aren't bad, either. When Eggsy offers him a bottle of water, he almost wants to kiss the boy in gratitude. But Harry restrains his baser impulses, and instead offers to take the wheel for the rest of the trip.

"Yeah, bruv, that sounds good. Scenery is gorgeous and this way, I can enjoy it without driving off the road."

The rest of the trip is much like what had come before. They talk about music, Harry recommending favorite traditional artists and Eggsy searching them out on the iPod. Talking with someone who has such an eager mind, someone so hungry for knowledge is always one of Harry's favorite ways to pass the hours. That Eggsy is also needy and eager for validation and Harry's approval is troubling. 

But not unexpected, given what he's gone through. Harry knows he'll have to use a gentle hand with the young man. Hero worship will work up to a point, and when Harry's own feet of clay are inevitably exposed, he doesn't want Eggsy to suffer.

It would be accurate to say that Harry's been through this before, with other artists. He's taken several up to Achnagairn to help them dry out, and he's been the recipient of declarations of undying love from several, and the thing is, Harry has never had trouble gently convincing any of those musicians that they can do so much better than Harry - the men, at least. The women usually know that he's queer.

The thing with Eggsy is that Eggsy isn't interested in him sexually. It's a different sort of relationship - not really paternal, and more than simple hero worship. If Eggsy wasn't in such dire straits, Harry would call it friendship.

Or maybe that is exactly what it is. They aren't emotional equals, but there isn't a power imbalance between them. Harry isn't Eggsy's manager, not yet. And whatever he feels for Eggsy can be buried so deep, it'll take a dedicated archeologist a decade to unearth it. There's no reason why they can't be friends, not really.

Except the little voice of his conscience tells Harry to stop fooling himself. He's half in love with the boy and that is going to be a disaster.

With no small relief, Harry pulls off the motorway and heads down the narrow lane that will take him to the little village of Kirkhill, and beyond that, to Achnagairn. Eggsy's turned off the music and stares wide-eyed at the scenery. 

"Fucking hell, Harry. You spent your summers here?"

"Yes. Until I graduated from Cambridge and started working in London. I still manage to take a couple of weeks of vacation up here every year."

"How do you ever leave?"

Harry smiles, and is a bit relieved. Eggsy had seemed such a city boy and he'd worried that Eggsy would find this place too remote, too far from the bright lights and clubs and people. "It is difficult."

"Winters up here must be amazing. Snow and quiet, bet Christmas would be like something out of an old movie."

"It is, although it's been a very long time since I've been able to come up for Christmas."

"You should make time, 'specially if you don't have no one to spend the holidays with." Eggsy sighs. "Better than London, with the fucking bell ringers on every corner and the stupid Christmas music blaring out in the shops. Hate Christmas, I fucking do - my da was killed right before."

Harry hadn't known that; no wonder the holiday is a minefield of bad emotions for Eggsy. "Don't you spend it with your family? Your mother and sister?"

"I do, and the day's okay and everything. It's just the month leading up that drives me up a fucking wall."

"I agree with that sentiment." Harry makes the turn onto Achnagairn's kilometer-long driveway, flanked by ancient elms that predate the house by at least three hundred years.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Harry. Are we going to a castle?" 

"No, Achnagairn Castle is about five kilometers west of here, it's a thoroughly drafty place, even though the owners turned it into a hotel. You'd enjoy it for a night or two, but once the novelty wears off, you'd find yourself wishing for a bedroom with finished walls and windows that keep out the cold and the heat."

"Yeah, okay - not really interested in staying in a fucking castle."

Harry had noticed that Eggsy's use of the word "fucking" has increased exponentially as they've gotten closer to their destination. An interesting, if vulgar, nervous tic. 

He pulls to a stop in front of a large, elegant house – red brick trimmed with white granite with large mullioned windows on both stories. 

"Yeah, mate. Not a castle, just a fucking palace."

Harry doesn't disagree, but he also doesn't tell Eggsy that Achnagairn had been modeled on Kensington Palace. 

The front door opened and two familiar figures step out to greet them. Harry doesn't wait for Eggsy, he gets out of the car and goes to his old friends. 

"Lara, my dear, you are as lovely as ever." Harry kisses her cheek before turning to Kenyon. "My friend, good to see you."

Kenyon wraps him in a bear hug. "Ye auld ass, ye've been gone way too long."

Decades past his childhood crush, Harry returns the gesture and breaths deep. "It's good to be back."

Lara asks, "Ye're friend seems a little reluctant. Doesn't he want to be here, Harry?"

Harry turns around and sees Eggsy standing by the car, an oddly sulky look on his face. "Problem, Eggsy?"

Eggsy shakes his head, opens the back door and takes out his guitar. Harry can see the boy gird himself, spine straight, shoulders back, chin up. It's strange, but Eggsy looks like he's about to walk into a beating.

He approaches and Harry introduces his house manager and steward. Eggsy's manners are exquisite and holds out his hand to Lara and then to Kenyon. "Ma'am, sir. Thank you for having me."

Kenyon chuckled. "We might live here, but this is Harry's place. We're just – "

Harry cuts his old friend off, "You're not 'just' anything, Ken, you and Lara are the heart and soul of Achnagairn."

Kenyon shakes his head. "Ye're way too republican for my tastes, Harry – practically a bloody Marxist."

Before Harry can defend himself, Lara interrupts, "Enough, husband, it's warm out here and I'm sure Harry and his guest would rather be inside and take their ease instead of arguing politics on the doorstep."

Coming from London, which is a heatsink in July, the Highlands are delightfully cool and refreshing, even in late afternoon, and when they step inside, Achnagairn' s grand foyer is downright chilly.

"If ye want to take a few minutes to freshen up, Ken will take yer bags up. I've put Mr. Unwin in the Mistress Suite – it has the loveliest view of the gardens."

Eggsy seems mildly freaked out by the name of the room, so Harry explains. "Mistress of the household, not the more modern usage. Husbands and wives sharing a bedroom is a very modern development."

"Okay, sorry – just not used to this. It's all really nice, but – "

"But?"

"Like I've stayed in some great hotels and stuff, but never in a private house like this. Once did a concert for some big business tycoon type – had a mansion twice this size outside of San Francisco, but I wasn't allow to stay there. Chester said that I wasn't a guest, just the hired help, only more expensive."

"My dear boy, Chester King is a fucking asshole. And he is going to get what's coming to him, sooner than later."

Eggsy doesn't look convinced, but he does let Lara show him to his room. The Mistress Suite – and Harry thinks maybe it's time to change the name – isn't overtly feminine. The walls and fabrics are a soft Parisian blue, the furnishing have clean, polished lines in classic design. The bed isn't quite as vast as the one they'd shared last night, but it has a modern king-sized mattress. Harry asks Eggsy, "Do you like it, because if you don't, there are a dozen other bedrooms to choose from."

"Nah, bruv, this is fine. And the view's aces." Eggsy walks over to the window and looks out. "Really sweet."

"Then I'll have Ken bring up your bag and Lara get afternoon tea ready."

"Um, would you mind if I skipped? Kind of knackered and I'd kind overdid it on some pastries when we'd stopped for gas." Eggsy gives Harry a pleading look, and Harry can see just how overwhelmed he is.

Harry turns to his house manager, who's hovering just outside the door, "Lara, I think we'll both skip tea. We had a bit of a snafu at the hotel last night and I don't think either of us slept well. And Eggsy can't take the blame for the bit of indulgence when we stopped; we found the bakery shop in Ardelve and gorged ourselves on fruit tarts and shortbread.

Eggsy gives him a sharp look at that white lie, but says nothing. Ken arrives with the luggage and Harry tells Eggsy to have a good rest, that they'll see each other at dinner.

Lara follows him to the Master Suite and closes the door behind her. "That poor lad, he looks like he's had his world destroyed."

"He has. Merlin's sent you the dossier?"

"Aye – I've locked away the alcohol and made sure that all of our prescription are also safely put away – not that yer lad would be interested in Ken's beta blockers or my statins. But better be safe than sorry."

Harry nods. "I don’t think drugs will be a serious issue, I think drinking is his bigger problem. But as you say, better safe than sorry."

"Aye. Is there anything I can get ye?"

Harry thinks for a moment. "No, not really. I need to touch base with the office and then I think I'd like to take a nap. There's something about all of this fresh air that's making me sleepy."

His old friend smiles. "You’ve been saying since you've been six, laddie. But I'll let ye rest. Dinner at eight?"

He checks the time, it's a bit past three now. "Perfect. And please keep dinner light."

"Of course." Lara leaves and Harry pulls out his phone and laptop. This morning he'd gotten an update from Merlin on the situation with Chester and the insurance policy, as well as the imminent financial collapse of Kingsman. He's actually less interested in Chester's shenanigans – that's something the police will handle – than what's going on with the agency he'd worked for, for so many years.

Merlin's report is enlightening. And disheartening. Kingsman Artists' debt is vast, the overhead unmanageable, and they are not only bleeding clients, but their rainmakers, too. If Hart & Co. is going to scoop up Kingman, they may be buying little more than a name and a lot of debt. It will be hard to give up on the dream of acquiring Kingsman, but Harry isn't going to bankrupt Hart & Co. for it. 

He checks the time - it's a little before five on a Friday afternoon, which means that the office is closed by now. It's tradition that they end the business day early on Fridays; giving the office staff a bit of a treat and the talent managers and agents time before they head out to the clubs to watch over their clients, take meetings with the movers and shakers who prefer to do business at VIP tables on someone else's expense account. Harry runs through the email that's accumulated and doesn't see anything that needs his immediate attention. Merlin will contact him if there's anything corporate that requires his input, the rest will just have to wait.

Harry is tempted to reach out to Sally about the disposition of any case against Eggsy, but decides not to. If there have been developments, she wouldn't hesitate to contact him. In this instance, silence is golden.

Which means there's no reason not to take a nap. Harry pulls the curtains shut, strips down to his shorts and vest and slides under the covers. The linens smell like heather and sunlight and all of his best childhood memories. Between one breath and the next, Harry falls asleep.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Achnagairn (and the village of Kirkhill) isa real place - there is a manor and a castle, both of which are hotels and event spaces. It's about 20 miles west of Inverness. The house in this story was built in the mid-1700s, after the English defeated the Jacobites and gave over great swaths of land to wealthy English nobility. It was fairly common to build estates that mimicked the style of the grand houses in the south, pretty houses that were miniature versions of Kensington Palace and other Georgian fancies, since the defeat at Culloden Moor spelled the death of the laird and clan system (and the need for defensive castles). Not even seventy-five years later, the English monarchy fell in love with Scotland (Mrs. Brown, a/k/a Queen Victoria wasn't the first to find Scottish culture irresistible). George IV (formerly, the Prince Regent), made the first royal visit to Scotland in two centuries.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy's first days a Achnagairn would be momentous, if he could only stay awake long enough to appreciate them.

Eggsy sleeps a lot in his first few days at Achnagairn. He'd woken for dinner the first night, had a few mouthfuls of delicious food, and couldn't stop yawning. He excused himself and headed back to bed. Harry hadn't said a word. He'd slept until noon the next day, had a light lunch, flopped onto one of loungers set under a willow tree in the garden and slept soundly until tea. The fresh air had revived his appetite, but not his energy, and he apologized for the constant yawning before heading back upstairs for some more sleep. This pattern had been repeated the next two days. On the third day, he'd only gotten up for a bite to eat around one and then had gone back to bed. No one disturbed him and he slept until midnight. Someone, probably Lara, had left a tray on the table outside his door, with fresh fruit, cheese, crackers and some sweet pastries, which had tied him over until morning.

It actually feels a bit momentous to wake up before noon, bright-eyed and eager to actually do something. Eggsy is startled to see that it's barely seven AM, and the sun is high. It looks to be a beautiful day, the sky is a clear, almost painful blue, unmarred except for some wispy drifting clouds.

It is the perfect weather for a run. Eggsy used to run all of the time, run and climb and jump off of buildings, and he'd been quite good at it. It had been a way to escape Dean and the muppets, a way to burn off the energy that got him into trouble. It had helped him center himself; find the music that lived inside his head. He'd run and hear the songs he'd want to write - the music and the lyrics - all coming together mile after mile. He'd always know when he had a good song, because it would stay with him through the physical exhaustion, through the shit that Dean would give him for disappearing for hours at a time, instead of running his crap. The good songs would even last through hours of sitting up and rocking his colicky baby sister. And when the apartment was finally quiet, Eggsy would pull out a scrap of paper and write everything down.

He wants that back. It's not like the itch that needs to be fed with booze and drugs, but a need that wants adrenalin and muscle aches and exhaustion.

Eggsy finds the trainers he'd packed, and a pair of gym shorts, dresses and heads downstairs. No one else seems to be about and he hopes the front door isn't alarmed because that's going to get everyone up and pretty pissed off. But he sees no sign of an alarm panel and no sirens start blaring when he opens the door. It's just blue skies, bird song, and a light breeze making the morning seems a bit cooler than it probably is.

Eggsy takes off, heading down the long driveway at an easy pace and he eventually gets to the narrow road they'd taken from the motorway. There's a sign indicating the distance - four kilometers - to the village of Kirkhill, which seems a far enough distance for the first run he's taken in two or three years.

He doesn't push himself to set any speed records, but he's a sweaty, achy lump by the time he reaches the town. There are a few people about and Eggsy nods and smiles at them, figuring that would make him seem as nonthreatening as possible.

They don't smile back at him, but they don't run in fear, either. It's actually quite a pretty town, with a a lot of shops, an old church, and benches around an immaculately gardened square. Exhausted, Eggsy collapses on the nearest bench and goes to pull out his phone to call Harry and ask if he could get a lift back. Only to realize that he doesn't have it, nor does he have his wallet. He knows he hadn't lost them on the run - he can see them on the night table in his bedroom. He'd been so eager to get out that he'd left them behind.

Well, shit. It's going to be a long, slow walk back. His legs feel like overcooked noodles and his heart is pounding from the unaccustomed exercise.

Eggsy looks around the town and wonders if any of the shops would let him call the house. Then he realizes he doesn't know if there's even telephone service to the place - doesn't everyone have cell phones now? And he's never memorized Harry's number - it's in his phone. Besides, it's still seriously early and nothing is opened.

Except for the bakery. And Eggsy fucking loves bakeries.

With a deep groan, he gets himself up from the bench and semi-limps over to the shop. It smells like bread and sugar and spice, everything wonderful and his stomach rumbles. 

There's a bit of a line and Eggsy needs to wait his turn; there's bulletin board to his left and he reads the flyers pinned to it. There annual church fete is coming up and the women's league is looking for donations for the fundraiser. Registration for the local elementary school will begin in two weeks. Open mic nights are every Wednesday at the Hound and the Hare, which must be the local pub. The last flyer on the board is for band in Inverness looking for a guitar player. 

Finally, the line of people in front of Eggsy are served and it's his turn. The young girl behind the counter greets him with a slightly weary "Good morning, can I help ye?" 

Eggsy smiles the way he'd been taught by his handlers back in the day and says, "I'm staying up at Achnagairn and I did something really foolish - I went out for a run and left my phone and wallet behind. I was wondering if you know the number and - "

The girl rolls her eyes and shakes her head before calls back into the depths of the bakery. "Moira, there's a lad who says he's staying at Achnagairn; he needs to call up to the house."

A woman about Eggsy's age comes out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. Eggsy is struck by her resemblance to the house manager, Lara. "What's yer name, lad?"

He says, "Eggsy Unwin" and immediately hopes that's not a mistake. He'd gone about professionally as "Gary" but he'd never stopped calling himself Eggsy, and eventually others called him that, too.

The baker - Moira - doesn't recognize the name or him, and comments, "Heard that Mr. Harry had brought a guest. You him?"

"Yeah - got here two, three days ago. Weather was so nice, decided to go for a run, but really didn't think things through. Kind of overdid it and was hoping Harry would come and pick me up." God, he sounds so pathetic.

Moira doesn't laugh. "That's a pretty impressive run; it's about seven kilometers to the house."

"Yeah? It felt good, until I got to the village, then everything sort of just gave out. I'm out of condition. Used to run for hours, but not recently."

"Let me call my mum and tell her your here and need a lift back."

"Lara? She's your mum?"

"Aye."

"Thought you looked a bit like her as soon as I saw you."

"Aye, my da always says we are two people with one face." Moira pulls out her mobile and makes a call. "Hey mum - you lose someone?"

Eggsy can hear Lara's voice, but not her words. Lara sounds furious.

"Stop shouting, mum. He's fine. Went for a run, ended up here. Says he left his phone and wallet behind and came in to ask if he could call the house and get a lift home. Aye, yeah, I'll let ye talk to him."

Moria hands him the phone, and Eggsy feels a bit like the delinquent teenager he'd once been - hoping to dodge a beating. He doesn't start panicking - no one's going to lay a hand on him - or so he hopes. 

_"Are you all right, Eggsy?"_ Lara, thank fuck, doesn't sound too angry.

"I'm fine, just overdid the running. And I'm really sorry that I forgot my wallet and phone. Feel like a fu- fool and I'm sorry that I upset things. Is Harry really angry at me?"

_"Oh, laddie, Harry is the furthest thing from angry. We were all just worried. You'd been sleeping so much, and then you just disappeared and left everything behind. No note about where you were going."_

At first, Eggsy can't understand why Harry or anyone would be worried. What kind of trouble could he get into so far from anywhere. Then it hits him. He swallows hard, feeling a million kinds of stupid. "Yeah, I'm really, really sorry about that. Look, tell Harry I'll walk home. It's a nice day and I could use a bit more exercise."

There's some rustling on the other end of the line. _"Eggsy? Is that you?"_

Eggsy feels his heart start to pound and he's suddenly sweating like a pig. "Yeah, it's me. I'm really, really sorry. I should have left a note or something. Didn't think." He hopes he can hold it together until he can get out of the bakery and out of town.

He waits for Harry to explode at him, to start screaming. _"Thank god. Are you all right?"_

"Just fine." He starts apologizing again, and tells Harry he'll be home in a few hours - it'll take that long to walk back to the house.

_"I'll be in Kirkhill in about ten minutes, you don't have to walk."_

Harry sounds weird, like he's overwrought or somethings. "Sure. I'll head back out to the square, okay?"

_"Yes, that will be fine. Can you give the phone back to Moira."_

Eggsy does just that and goes outside, to the bench he'd first flopped down on. He feels like utter shite, making everyone worry like that. He didn't think. Achnagairn isn't a hotel, it's a home, and guests are supposed to behave properly, not be so fucking inconsiderate.

Moira comes out of the bakery with a bottle of water and a white bag. "Here ye go, you could probably use this about now. Don't figure ye had brekkie or anything before ye hit the road."

"Ta - but I don't have any dosh on me. I'll come back this afternoon and - "

"Don't ye worry about it; I'll add it to the monthly bill for the baked goods that go up to the house."

"You sure?"

"Aye." Moira leaves him with the bag and water and goes back to the bakery. 

Eggsy takes a long swig from the bottle and says a silent and heartfelt thank you for the lovely woman. The white paper bag has a savory sausage roll and Eggsy all but inhales it. He sips the rest of the water and limps over to a refuse bin to dispose of the bottle and bag. He's just about to settle back onto the bench when a too-familiar Range Rover pulls up and comes to a halt. 

Eggsy licks his lips, his stomach roils and he hopes he doesn't toss up the pastry all over the pretty flowers.

Harry gets out of the car and Eggsy can't look at him, he's feeling too ashamed, too scared. He hears Harry's footsteps on the cobbles, and he girds himself for the outpouring of anger, the hands grabbing him, dragging him back to the car, hurting him.

"Oh, Eggsy, thank god." To Eggsy's utter shock, Harry wraps his arms around him and hugs him tightly. "I was so worried. We all were."

Harry lets go of Eggsy and looks at him, staring at his face. Eggsy feels the tears and he can't stop them. "Sorry, so fucking sorry. Didn't mean to make you worry. Don't be angry, please." He can't look at Harry, he doesn't want so see the rage in Harry's face, he doesn't want to see it turn bitter and ugly.

"I'm not angry, Eggsy. Far from it." 

Eggsy doesn't believe him and he waits for shouting to start, for the hands still gripping his shoulders to tighten up and twist, pulling at him, hurting him. He hates the weakness, but the tears are falling and they won't stop.

"Eggsy, please - look at me."

Eggsy finally lifts his head and looks at Harry. He can't find a trace of anger, just concern and something he doesn't understand. "I'm really sorry."

"It's all right, you didn't do anything wrong. We just jumped to some pretty terrible conclusions."

Eggsy lets out a deep breath and wipes at his face. "I didn't mean to make you worry. It was just so nice and I was really feeling good. Just wanted to go for a run - haven't really run in a long time, not since the tour, maybe. And I overdid it. And I was an idiot - forgetting to take my phone." He knows he's babbling.

"It's all right - you're not responsible for my overreaction.." Harry steers him towards the car. "I've never been more glad to be wrong, my dear."

Eggsy has no control over his words, repeating himself. "It was just so nice out - and I finally felt really good. Been a long time since I wanted to run like that. It ain't the same on a treadmill."

"No, it isn't." Harry starts the SUV and pulls around the square. "I have to say, of all the people to approach, you certainly picked the right one."

"Went into the bakery, it was the only place that was opened. I didn't know Lara had a daughter."

"Ah, of course."

Eggsy starts to feel a bit more centered by the time Harry turns onto the driveway for Achnagairn, also a bit embarrassed at his own over-reaction.

Of course Lara fusses over him; Kenyon, however; gives him a bit of a stink eye, at least until Harry stares the other man down. Kenyon nods and just says, "Glad yer all right, laddie. And that's quite a run, from here to the village."

Eggsy usually runs twice that on the treadmill, but that doesn't count since he hasn't been on one for over a year. 

"Your daughter is a lovely and generous woman, sir." He looks over at Lara, and adds, "Ma'am. When you speak with her, please give her my thanks. Her kindness is much appreciated."

The praise, as genuine as it is, does what Eggsy hopes it would. It quells Kenyon's annoyance and diverts Lara's mothering. Eggsy turns to Harry, "Mind if I go up and shower? I'm pretty rank."

Harry smiles and tells him to go ahead. There will be coffee and breakfast waiting when he comes down.

In the privacy of the shower, Eggsy closes his eyes and relives the warmth of Harry's unexpected embrace. He doesn't know if he's adding details, but he can now remember feeling how Harry had trembled, how his heart had raced. Eggsy washes his hair and as his fingers scrub the sweat from his scalp, he thinks he remembers Harry's lips pressing a kiss right there.

He treasures the memory, even if it isn't real.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

By the time Eggsy joins him in the breakfast room, Harry has mostly regained his composure and his common sense. He doesn't understand why he'd leaped to such a terrible conclusion, that Eggsy had decided to kill himself. Nothing in his previous self-destructive behavior had pointed to that, in fact, he'd been bloody furious at the suggestion just a week ago, when Harry had talked to him in the hospital. Maybe it had been the days of endless sleeping, the lack of appetite, the barely coherent responses to Harry's attempts at conversation which seemed to lead Harry down that stupid path.

As much as he's annoyed at his own stupidity, he's even more concerned about Eggsy's reactions. It really seemed as if Eggsy thought he would tear a strip out of him, that he'd do some real violence. Harry knows that Eggsy's childhood had been difficult - father killed in Iraq when the boy was seven, his mother had a series of opportunistic and sometimes violent boyfriends, finally marrying the worst of them - an abusive drug dealer who taken to beating both Eggsy and his mother, and quite possibly going after his own infant daughter.

It seems that Eggsy might have thought Harry is cut from the same cloth as his stepfather, but Harry has never once lifted his hand in violence, and never would. He will need to make that clear to Eggsy.

Eggsy comes in, hair damp and looking just a touch wary. "Morning again. Hard to believe it's just a little before ten, after everything that's gone on."

"Yes, it has certainly been a momentous few hours."

Eggsy fixes a small plate from the dishes on the sideboard, takes some juice and coffee and sits down. For the first time since they've arrived at Achnagairn, Eggsy does more than pick at his food, and when Harry suggests seconds, Eggsy doesn't hesitate.

"Oi, that was really good. I mean all the food has been good, but that was really special."

"The cook, Mrs. MacNeil, excels at breakfast."

"Yeah, she does." Eggsy mops of the last bit of egg with his toast and licks his fingers. He looks over at Harry and blushes. "Sorry, my table manners are kind of shite this morning. I usually know better."

"It's fine. I've seen a lot worse."

"Oh?" Eggsy looks at him with eager eyes, and Harry gives in, spending the next half hour or so sharing war stories about some of his more colorful clients.

Kate, the young housemaid, comes in to clear the table and Harry asks if Eggsy would join him in the garden.

Outside, under one of the vast willows, there's a pair of loungers and he gestures for Eggsy to take a seat.

"What's the matter?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You've got a serious business face on, usually that means something is wrong."

Harry sighs. "This morning - " 

Eggsy starts to apologize again, but Harry cuts him off. "You did nothing wrong, nothing at all. You're a guest here in my home. You are not a prisoner or an inmate under guard or a child who needs to be constantly monitored. You're an adult who has every right to come and go as he pleases." 

"Still, should have left a note. I'm a guest, but that would have been plain good manners."

"And yes, manners maketh man - "

"And ain't that why I'm here, to be a better man?"

Harry acknowledges Eggsy's point with a tilt of his head. "But manners - good and bad - aren't why I wanted to talk to you. This morning, when I picked you up in Kirkhill - "

Eggsy nods, looking scared again.

"You seemed frightened of me. Would I be mistaken if I said you thought I was going to hit you?"

Eggsy closes his eyes and looks away for a moment. "Yeah - I was having kind of a flashback, I think. Like my stepdad - he used to get pretty free with his fist if I fucked up. Or if I didn't fuck up. I don't know why that happened. I mean, it's been years - Dean's dead, his muppets are in jail, ain't nothing he can do to me. I guess I figured you'd be angry because I just disappeared this morning without a word and you wasted all that time and energy looking for me."

Harry lets out a sigh. "I would never, ever raise my hand to you in violence. And I'd like to think I have better control over my temper than to yell at you because I'd been frightened. Please understand that."

Eggsy stares at him for a minute and finally nods. "Yeah, I get that. You ain't the type. You're not the kind who'd do that to someone, no matter how angry you are."

"Thank you, Eggsy."

The boy smiles at him. "Don't know if I said it before, but thank you for bringing me here. I really needed to get out of London, I think it was killing me." 

Harry doesn't pull his punches when he agrees. "The way you were going, the direction that Chester had been pushing you, it's quite likely."

"Speaking of that wanker, any word from Sally?"

Harry's confused - he hadn't told Eggsy about the insurance policy Chester had taken out. "Sally? What does she have to do with him?"

"Oi, I'm a fucking idiot." Eggsy shakes his head. "Cat's out of the bag, so I might as well tell you what I told Sally. My dealer, Charlie - he's Chester's grandson. He's the one who gave me the speedball and tried to kill me. I think on Chester's orders."

Harry can't quite believe it. No, wait, actually he can. "And there's something I didn't tell you. Chester had taken a huge life insurance policy out on you, payable to Kingsman - ten million pounds if you died of 'misadventure'. We think that's why he'd cancelled your contract, he'd hoped that you'd get depressed, call your dealer and OD. And from what you've just told me, he was taking no chances."

"Does Sally know about the life insurance?"

"Yes, Merlin has given her the information, and I'm certain she's put everything together and handed it off to CID. Hopefully we'll soon hear about Chester King's arrest." Harry's hopeful that will come soon, the idea of Chester King walking around as a free man when he'd tried to have Eggsy murdered is unacceptable.

Eggsy lets out a gusty sigh. "You know what? I can't bring myself to care right now? Yeah, I'd like to see that wanker choke to death on his own poison, but it's like - I'm here, I'm alive and he don't matter worth shit." He gets up and tells Harry, "I'm going to try to make some music, all right?"

Harry says the only thing worth saying, "That sounds like an excellent idea."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy settles into life at Achnagairn, and Harry comes and goes as business demands. But as wonderful as Harry's presence is, Eggsy starts feeling the music again. He's writing and playing and exploring the sounds he wants to be a part of. And that takes him to a cozy little music store in Inverness.

Life at Achnagairn settles into a routine and the weeks pass with surprising ease. Most mornings, regardless of the weather, Eggsy gets up early and goes for a run, never again forgetting his phone and wallet. Sometimes Harry joins him, and Eggsy will often let Harry take the lead on the narrow road into town, just so Eggsy can watch that ass. 

Now that Eggsy's settled and happy, most Mondays, Harry goes back to London and comes back on Thursday or Friday, flying out of and into Inverness on some British Airways shuttle that takes little more than an hour. The sixth Thursday after Eggsy had first arrived in Achnagairn, Harry returns and brings two guests - Sally Gideon and DI Morton. 

The Detective Inspector wants to grill him about his dealing with King and Kingsman Artists, as well as his relationship with that turd, Charlie Hesketh. Sally tells him when and when not to answer.

When the questioning is done, Eggsy has one of his own. "So, is King going to jail?"

Morton makes a face, like she's not sure she should answer or not, but she finally does. "Yes, It looks like that will be happening soon."

"And Charlie? What about that wanker?"

Morton doesn't hesitate this time. "Mr. Hesketh has been charged with dealing and attempted murder."

"But he gave up his grandad, so he's not going to do time?"

The inspector nods but doesn't confirm or deny.

"Yeah, well, disappointed but not surprised, Charlie's a weasel and a coward. He'd sell out his mum if it would save him some jail time."

The pair stay for dinner and will take the first flight back to London in the morning. The meal is convivial and Eggsy finds himself actually liking the Detective Inspector, who invites him to call her Roxanne when she isn't on official business. She has a sharp sense of humor that keeps Eggsy on his toes.

The highlight of the evening is when Kate comes around with the wine and Eggsy asks her to take his glass, and says that he'll just be having water. Harry looks at him with such pride and approval that Eggsy feels himself blushing. Wine and spirits are absent during his meals at Achnagairn, whether with Harry is there or on Eggsy is his own. This is the first time Eggsy's even been offered the choice and it feels like he's passed a test.

After dinner, after Sally and Roxanne head to bed, Eggsy joins Harry in his study and comments, "It's weird, you know - but I don't miss it. The booze, you know?"

"I'm glad to hear that."

Harry does seem proud, but there's also a note of reservation in his tone. "What's the matter?"

"I don't want you to fool yourself into thinking it's always going to be this easy."

Eggsy's been thinking along the same lines. "Yeah, that's occurred to me. Do you think I should be going to meetings or something?"

"I don't think that would be a bad idea. Having a support structure to help when things aren't so easy would be wise."

"Yeah, you're right. I can't just call you when things aren't going well - you're not my babysitter or my therapist."

"Actually, Eggsy, you can always call me. Whenever you need me - I hope that we are friends as well as eventual professional colleagues. But I don't have the tools you'll need - I'm not a recovering addict or an addiction counselor - and you should have someone who can give you that kind of help."

Eggsy nods, agreeing in principle if not in fact. "I'll look into it." It's a bit of a blow-off, he knows, but what is he going to say? That he'll start going to meetings in some moldy church basement? Which is weird, since he'd been the one to float the idea of finding professional-like help - except that really had been a kind of passive-aggressive way to test Harry's commitment to him.

He's a little shit and knows it.

Harry doesn't call Eggsy out on his duplicity, just looks for something in his desk - a business card. He holds it out and Eggsy takes it. "Someone you might want to consult with."

"Okay." Eggsy looks at the card and pockets it. "Thanks. Gonna go down to the studio for a bit. The ladies have the room next to mine and I don't want to keep 'em awake while I'm playing."

"That is very considerate of you."

Eggsy bites his lip, torn about what he's about to do. "Would you like to come listen? Been working on a song, don't know if it's shite or not. Could use an unbiased opinion."

Harry smiles and Eggsy feels - well, he _feels_ and he really can't think about that. Once in the studio, he leaves Harry at the control board and goes into the recording room. It fucking fantastic acoustics - better than the studio where Eggsy had recorded his two albums. 

He runs through a short warm-up and flips the switch for the audio feed back to the control room.  "You there, Harry?"

"I am."  Harry's voice is a warm, steadying presence.

Eggsy takes a breath and feels the butterflies in his belly, but he's not going to let them overwhelm him, and he starts playing.  The music is nothing like what he's ever written, and the song lyrics are a mix of his original style and something new.  There's a harder edge, a hint of unnamed tragedy.  As he sings, Eggsy falls under the spell of his own music; he finds some of the lost bits and pieces of the musician he'd once been.

The song comes to a quiet end and Eggsy stills the strings.  He's afraid to look up, look over at Harry.  He's afraid of so much…

Eggsy replaces the guitar on the stand and shuts down the electronics.  His hands are shaking and he feels a bit dizzy, a bit nauseous.  Which is weird, because he's finished playing – he should be getting the jitters before, not after a performance.

"Bloody well done, Eggsy."

Eggsy closes his eyes and says a short prayer to the powers that be.  "You liked it?"

"Very much.  It's a beautiful song."

"It's called 'No Happy Ending' - you don't think it's too maudlin?"

"From a commercial point of view, maybe.  Titles are something we can work on.  But the song - and your singing - is lovely, it reminds me of why I originally thought you could be a commercial success, but it's also much more to you now."

The rush of relief is almost painful, but he finally looks over at Harry, and Harry's smiling, his eyes shining with pleasure and approval.

He comes out of the music studio and Harry hugs him tight. 

"So I'm still a musician?"

"Of course you are, there's no doubt about that."

The stress leaves his body bit by bit.  "I'd say, I could use a drink but …"  Eggsy really doesn't want alcohol, but he wants … something.

He wants Harry.

Except Harry lets go of him.  "Maybe something else?  Want to raid the kitchen?"

Without the shelter of Harry's arms, Eggsy's a little chilled.  And more than a bit bereft.  "Nah, don't want to substitute one indulgence for another."

"Fair enough."  There's still a touch of pride in Harry's words.  "Do you want to turn in?"

Eggsy checks the time, it's barely eleven o'clock.  "I guess."  Eggsy wonders what Harry would say if he asks Harry to join him.  To save his dignity, he changes the subject.  "What time do Sally and Roxanne need to be at the airport?"

"Their flight is at seven; so we need to leave around five-thirty."

"You're going back to London, too?"

"Unfortunately, there are some things that need my attention and physical presence."

"Kingsman?"  They'd talked quite a bit about Harry's long held dream of buying his former employer and kicking Chester King to the curb. 

Harry nods.  "We're coming to an inflection point – either we make an offer or we let it go."

"Wouldn't it be better to wait until Chester's arrested?"

"That's part of the equation.  If we wait, it's possible that Kingsman will simply close and its people will scatter to the winds, taking their clients with them.  All we'd be buying is a name – one that's heavily tarnished – and a boatload of debt.  If we make the offer now, while the firm is still mostly intact, the price will be higher and there's no guarantee that we'll be able to keep the people or the clients once Chester is hauled off."

"So why try to buy it at all?  Why not just get the people and the clients you want and let everything else go?"

"That, my boy, is the question now up for debate."  

They head upstairs and before Eggsy turns to go to his bedroom, he says,  "I was thinking about going into Inverness, maybe I could take you and the ladies to the airport?"

"You'll be there quite early, hours before the shops open."

Eggsy shrugs.  "Sure I can find plenty to do.  The scenery ain't on the clock, right?"

"That's true.  And Kenyon, who does not particularly enjoy getting up early, will appreciate the reprieve."

With that, Eggsy decides that he probably should turn in, but sleep doesn't come easily and he regrets his offer, especially when the sky starts to lighten at four-thirty.  But a promise is a promise, and Eggsy is showered and dressed and waiting for the travelers in the breakfast room at exactly five AM.  Lara, who is far too awake for Eggsy, has already set up the coffee service and travel mugs, plus a tray of pastries.  Sally is intimidating in towering heels and a linen suit, Roxanne is rumpled and mostly still asleep, and Harry looks like he always does, mouth wateringly perfect.

The married couple takes the back seat and Harry is up in front with Eggsy, and they are on the road at the appointed time, and far more organized and orderly than any of the tour stops that Eggsy had ever had.  Harry puts in the directions for the Inverness airport and the drive is easy, far too early for any traffic and Eggsy actually wonders if Inverness actually has traffic.  The airport is small and tidy and easily navigable, and as the travelers get out, Eggsy wonders if he'll seem too needy if he asks when Harry will be back.

The question is unnecessary.  Harry tells him, "If things are a go, I'll be in London all week; if the firm decides to stand down, I'll be back on Sunday and will be sticking around for the foreseeable future."

Eggsy gets out of the car and helps the ladies with their luggage, although Roxanne rather blearily tells him she can manage.  Sally, on the other hand, is more than willing to spare her manicure and lets Eggsy heft her carry-on down to the curb.  She kisses him on the cheek and he manages not to choke on the cloud of perfume.  Roxanne, in Detective Inspector mode, offers her hand and a thank you for the lift.  The two women head into the terminal, but Harry hangs back.

"Are you all right?"

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?"

"You look a bit tired."

Eggsy confesses to a mostly sleepless night.  

"You can just head home and come back into Inverness whenever you want.  Remember what I said, you're not a prisoner, and if you don't want to drive in, Kenyon or Lara will be happy to take you."

"Thanks, I'll consider it."  

Harry nods, his expression unaccountably grave.  "I'll stay in touch with you, let you know what's going on.  And if you want to talk, please don't think twice about calling me."

"Okay, I won't.  And you better get going; you don't want to miss your flight."

For a second, Harry leans forward and Eggsy thinks he's going to kiss him.  Instead, Harry claps him on the shoulder and strides off, disappearing into the terminal.  

Eggsy sighs and does his best to put aside the feeling of abandonment.  He concentrates on Harry's unequivocally positive response to the new song and remembers the reason why he'd wanted to come into Inverness today.  There are a bunch of music stores he wants to visit, which is kind of a dangerous thing.  His music's supposed to be his own, but he can't seem to escape the ear worms – the ones playing pipes and penny whistles and singing about murder and war and lovers separated by time and family and terrible circumstance.  The traditional music that Harry introduced him to has infected Eggsy's brain and he's not going to get rid of it by ignoring it.

He's not interested in adopting a purely traditional sound, but he wants to incorporate it into his repertoire.  Maybe do the same with the music from his Welsh roots, too.

By the time Eggsy gets into Inverness proper and finds parking, it's nearly seven, just in time for the local Starbucks he'd sussed out to open.  Neither the brew nor the baked goods can compare to what he gets at Achnagairn, but he's still tired, the cup and pastry he'd taken with him are mere memories. But even bog standard sugar and caffeine are better than any drugs he's ever taken.

He hangs around for a few hours, buying a couple of refills and leaving a substantial tip, before heading out to the shops.

To Eggsy's vast embarrassment, the first store has a faded poster of him in the window, and he almost turns back but doesn't, reasoning that no one's going to associate the floppy-haired blond chav posing in Jeremy Scott, winged Adidas trainers and a snapback with a random English bloke who's up way too early.

Except the store clerk does - judging by her gasp and how her eyes light up when he asks where the sheet music is for guitar. The girl is about Eggsy's age, if he's any kind of judge, and her hair is a dozen shades of blue and purple, cropped close on the sides, but long on top. With her piercings and tattoos, she doesn't seem like a typical fan of Gary Unwin's music, but Eggsy kind of hopes she is; it would mean that he's reached out beyond Chester's preferred demographic. 

Beyond that initial gasp, the girl doesn't get excited or pull out her phone, but she stares at him for a long moment before taking him over to the proper racks. And instead of going back to the front counter, she lingers and keeps flicking gazes at him.

Eggsy knows the drill, he smiles at her and she bites her lip, clearly screwing up her courage. "Are ye Gary Unwin?"

He nods, and waits for either a squeal or an insult.

"Wow, seriously wow. I'm a big fan. Of your first album. The second one - " The clerk bites her lip.

"You can say it. It sucked."

"Well, it wasn't very good, ye know? But yer first one, it was simply brill. Went down to see ye when ye played at the O2 in London - that was really awesome. Best night of my life."

"To tell you the truth, it was one of mine, too." As much as Eggsy had hated how he'd been packaged and presented as a teen idol, it had still be a thrill to play to a sold-out house. The energy had been incredible.

"Can I ask ye, are ye ever going to make more music? Of have ye retired?"

"Can you keep a secret?"

The girl nods, her eyes enormous. "Aye, ain't gonna grass on ye."

"I'm working on it. I like to write my own stuff, and that takes time." 

"Yeah, maybe that's why the second album didn't do so good. Ye were singing someone else's words."

"And playing someone else's music, too. So I'm taking some quality time and going back to what I love."

"Then why are ye here?"

"In Inverness?"

"No, here - in the shop. Ye're looking at trad stuff. Ye going trad?" There's an excited tremor in her voice, like she'll explode if he says yes.

"It's something a friend recently introduced me to. It's very … intriguing."

The bell on the front door chimes and the clerk gets a panicked look in her eye. "I've got to work, but please, please don't go anywhere."

Eggsy nods and turns back to the sheet music, flipping through volumes of traditional songs. Most of them make him wince, but there are a few that may be promising, except he doesn't know Gaelic - and his own facility with Welsh doesn't help.

"Oh, good, ye stayed." The eager store clerk comes back. "I'm Bethany, by the way."

Eggsy holds out his hand, "A pleasure. And you can call me Eggsy."

"Really? I can use your nickname?" Bethany looks stunned.

"To tell you the truth, I hate 'Gary' - it was my grandda's name, and no one ever called me that at home. I never think of myself as a Gary."

"So why are ye called 'Gary' if ye don't like?"

Eggsy shrugs. "Marketing - my manager had said 'Eggsy' sounds like a Teletubby. Not that Gary's much better."

Bethany giggles. "I like Eggsy. I think it suits ye, if that's not too forward."

Eggsy shakes his head. In the early days, before things had gotten crazy, he'd liked talking to fans, especially the ones who hadn't treated him like a piece of meat. "So, can you tell me about some of these books? Like you know my music, which one do you think suits me?"

Turning into the consummate professional, Bethany pulls down a book and takes away what Eggsy's holding. "Robert Burns - Scotland's soul, right there. This one has is some of himself's best poetry set to some classic tuning. Ye heard of Dougie MacLean? He's another one you should listen to." Bethany pulls down another book and drops it in Eggsy's hand. "What about Niel Gow - he's Scotland's most famous fiddler, but there's a good book with a bunch of his songs transcribed for guitar. We're out of it at the moment, but I can order it for ye."

"Aye - I mean, yeah." Eggsy blushes. "Sorry about that, it's hard not to use the local dialect."

"No worries, we wouldn't mind claiming ye as our own, but I think Wales might take an issue with that."

Eggsy's a little surprised that Bethany knows he's Welsh. "Yeah, you don't want to start a war or anything."

Bethany giggles. "But wouldn't a song battle be awesome? A ceilidh with ye as the prize."

" _Eisteddfod_ \- that's what the song contests are called in Wales." Eggsy had been six when his da had taken him to the festival. He hadn't sung, but he'd been enchanted by the experience. It's probably why he'd become a singer.

"Cool." Bethany gets a serious look in her eyes. "I know this is going to sound right weird, but I know a trad group who might be interested in giving ye a bit of schooling - like how the sound is different from pop and rock. They're a good bunch - wouldn't grass you out."

"And would you be part of this group?" Eggsy already knows the answer to that.

Bethany nods. "Me, my brother. His mate. And my girlfriend. I play the fiddle, Ronnie plays the accordion and vocals, but she's really backup. Sean plays the pipes and Ben is percussion. We haven't had a guitar player or a real lead singer for a while."

A memory pops up. "Did you post a flyer in the bakery at Kirkhill?"

"Aye, I think so - probably a few months ago. Ye've seen it?"

"Yeah, been in that shop a few times. Figured that you'd probably found a guitarist a long time ago."

Bethany wrinkles her nose. "Haven't found the right match yet. We're not exactly the most traditional of trad groups. Most of the guys who'd auditioned made cracks about wanting a threesome with me and Ronnie, or getting to try out Ronnie's 'squeezebox'. And the others had an issue with Sean and Ben. Ben's Black and Jewish, so Sean's converting to Judaism and they're engaged to be married. Do ye have a problem with that?" Her question is fierce.

"Absolutely not. Love is love. It should be honored in all forms." While Eggsy finds the idea of playing with this band intriguing for the musical benefits, he's also pleased that it could be a safe space for him, too. If he ever gets the courage to come out.

Someone calls for Bethany to get herself to the register. "We practice at my brother's and Ben's flat - let me give ye the address. And we play at The North Star - that's a pub near the university - every Tuesday and Friday. If the guys and Ronnie like ye, maybe ye'd want to sit in on a couple of sets."

"Maybe - but two things. You and your band can't tell anyone and …" Eggsy takes a deep breath. "I don't drink. Gave it up when I realized that the booze was killing my music." The less said about the weed and coke, the better.

Bethany doesn't blink at that. "Okay, that's cool. We don't drink when we're practicing and afterwards, some of us do, some don't. Can't get shit faced if ye got to work the next day. And if ye come to the pub, I'll tell the bartender and he'll serve ye fizzy water or pop or something. No one will give ye a hard time about tea-totaling."

"Thanks." Eggsy takes the piece of paper with the address and telephone number, tucks it into his wallet and pays cash for the books. "And if you can get me that Niel Gow book, I'd be grateful."

"Yeah, of course. Should take just a week or so, I can hold it for ye."

"That'd be aces." 

As Eggsy's about to leave, he turns back to Bethany. "I really do appreciate this."

"I won't tell anyone - they wouldn't believe me."

"You don't want a selfie? Proof positive I've been here." Eggsy can't believe he's offering, but the girl has been so nice.

"Nay, that'd be too much temptation - share it my friends and then it'll get out it the wild. But … " Bethany takes the faded poster off the window, "If ye could sign this?"

Eggsy grins. "Got a sharpie?"

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's return to Scotland is delayed by five very long, very tedious weeks. It seems that Eggsy wasn't the only client that Chester fucked over. Decisions have to be made.
> 
> Eggsy, for his part, finds ways to fill the time in Harry's absence - mostly with music.

"Remind me again, why we're doing this?" Harry stares at the spreadsheet Merlin's put up on display, but he can't make out any of the numbers. It's after midnight and he and his partners have been at this for days. Harry's eyes refuse to focus.

"Because there are good people at Kingsman who are going to get screwed if one of the big agencies comes in. And we can't pick up that much overhead without people to bring in money, especially if ye won't raid the coffers at Hart & Co. to salvage Kingsman." Merlin is the voice of reason, or at least providing a reasonable reason to go forward..

Harry looks over at Percival and James. "Then tell me that we shouldn't do this. That we're making a huge mistake."

Percival shakes his head. "No risk, no reward. That's what you told us when we jumped ship. Lance and I could have gone with William Morris Endeavor or Creative Artists - they both made offers - but we knew you'd build something great. And you have."

"So why change it? Why absorb this massive headache?" Harry is grasping for any reason not go ahead with the tender. The lawyers are waiting in the wings, rather too much like vultures circling a dead animal.

"Harry, if you don't want to do this, then let's not. We can pick up clients and managers and agents." With a nod to Merlin, Lancelot adds, "And staff, too. If we buy Kingsman, this business is going to change. We're going to have to deal with people we don't like, do things in ways that are going to generate a lot more paperwork."

Merlin grumbles at that.

"Nothing will be the same, Harry. And if you want my honest opinion, I like how things are. I like coming into work and knowing everyone's name." Lancelot looks at his husband and shrugs. "This is a good place and I don't want that to change. We don't need Kingsman. If we're putting this acquisition to a vote, I am voting no. I am against buying Kingsman."

Harry lets out a huge sigh. "Percival, what do you say?"

Percival shakes his head. "I'm with James - but I'm always going to wonder what it could have been like."

"Merlin?"

"We could make the numbers work, but we'd be leveraged up the wazoo, as the Americans like to say. One bad year and this could all fall apart."

"Then you're saying we should pass?"

Merlin makes his spreadsheets dance again, frowns, fiddles a bit more. "Aye, it'd be for the best. We still should make offers to some of the key people, but a wholesale acquisition may not be in our best interests."

Harry picks up the phone, calls the solicitors that the firm has on standby and tells them to stand down. 

When James yawns and drops his head on Percival's shoulder, Harry's own sympathetic response kicks in. Soon enough, Merlin and Percival are yawning, too.

"Go home, everyone." Harry looks at his watch, at some point, Saturday became Sunday and Sunday turned into Monday and then the rest of the week disappeared. "I'm heading back to Scotland tonight, there's an evening flight into Inverness." 

The room is filled with groans and grumbles of the four middle-aged men as they get to their feet. Harry retrieves his laptop and the files he'll need for the week and calls for an Uber. He gets home and heads right to bed, too tired to even contemplate showering. And of course, once he's comfortable under the covers, and just about to doze off, his phone pings with an incoming text. Worried by the after-hours communication, he grabs his phone. It's Eggsy.

_You up?"_

Harry can't fault the boy for the lateness of the hour. He'd been in regular communication with Eggsy since he'd left Inverness, often texting in the small hours of the night. _Yeah, just got home._

_Home - that's good. You done sacking out in the office?_

Harry groans at the memory of the office couch where he'd tried to nap, only to end up with an aching back. _Yeah. We're not going forward._

Eggsy doesn't answer right away. _Wanna talk?_

Harry doesn't even respond, just taps on the audio icon to call. The phone doesn't ring twice before Eggsy answers. _"Hey you. How are you doing?"_

"Tired. Frustrated."

_"Then I should let you sleep."_

"No - wanted to hear your voice." Harry winces, afraid of how mawkish and needy that sounds. 

_"Wanted to hear yours, too. Miss you, Haz."_ Eggsy chuckles. _"Sorry - don't mean to sound so needy."_

Harry lets the words wash over him, even though he knows that Eggsy doesn't mean them romantically. "Don't apologize for your feelings."

_"Mmmm, yeah. So, you're not going forward with the deal?"_

"Yeah, we decided it wasn't worth the risk, the extra work. And honestly, we like being small. Buying out Kingsman would mean we're not small anymore. We'll hire who we can and let the rest fall by the wayside."

_"You're sad, though."_

Harry sighs. "You seem to know me too well."

_"Maybe, or maybe I understand? It's like when my stepdad went to prison - my mum was given a chance to ask for mercy. She would sooner have cut off her tongue than do that, but she could have also gone and told the judge what an evil wanker Dean had been to her and Daisy and me, how she'd watch him push his crap on the kids in the neighborhood. She didn't, though - too afraid that Dean's muppets would come after her. But she's always regretted not standing up and having her say. Less these days since the pig died, but it kinds of haunts her. I know the two things aren't even close to being the same, but it's about regret, right?"_

"Yes, exactly. I know we made the right decision, but I've held onto the idea of taking over Kingsman for a long time, and it's hard to let it go." Eggsy starts humming that Disney tune and Harry laughs. "Enough of that. How are you doing?"

_"Not too bad. Just working on my stuff."_

"It's going well?" Harry is almost afraid to ask, he knows how delicate progress can be.

_"Yeah, I think it is. Won't have anything else to demo for you for a while, still sorting through ideas - but I'm writing and playing and that's progress, yeah?"_

"It is. And I'll be ready to listen when you are ready to let me hear. There's no timeline, Eggsy. You don't have a sell-by date stamped on your forehead."

_"Okay, cool."_ Eggsy yawns and Harry does the same. _"Sorry, bruv - and I'm keeping you awake."_

"No worries. I'll be back tomorrow night and we can catch up then."

_"Sweet. You sleep well, take care of my Harry, right?"_ The sentiment makes Harry ache, even though it's merely made out of friendship.

"I will, and take care of my Eggsy, too." 

Eggsy laughs. _"Oi! Of course."_

"Good night." Eggsy says the same and they end the call.

Harry returns the phone to its charger and sighs. Eggsy has made a home in Harry's heart and it's going to be painful when the boy finds out that his wings are more than strong enough to let him soar again. When that happens, he'll become just one of the many people dedicated to taking care of him. How the hell did this happen? How did he fall in love with a man half his age?

Love.

He loves Eggsy Unwin. It's not just physical desire anymore, and maybe it never had been just that. Harry can't pinpoint the moment it started; this isn't anything like what goes on between the covers of a novel. He'd liked the young man who'd worked three jobs to support his mother and baby sister; the one who'd taught himself how to play and had written his own songs, and then had the courage to put himself onto the Internet for all the world to mock. That young man had intrigued him with his promise.

But the man Eggsy's become - the fighter, the survivor - that's who has engaged Harry's heart, and if Harry doesn't keep control over his emotions, it's going to end very badly.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Eggsy gets two phone calls later that day. Both are ostensibly bad news, but only one is upsetting.

 _"Chester King is dead."_ Sally Gideon's tone is serious, all business. But then, she's always all business.

"Wow, that's not what I expected to hear today." Eggsy has been working on some intricate chording on one of the Robert Burns pieces and nearly ignores the call on his mobile. "What happened? Heart attack when the rozzers showed up to clap the irons on him?" Serves the old vulture right, but then Eggsy wonders if Chester even had a heart.

Gideon drops a bombshell. _"No, he committed suicide."_

Eggsy is stunned. "Seriously? Didn't think the old git had the stones for that." He supposes he should feel sorry of King - or at least the man's family - but he can't seem to bring himself to care. "Thanks for telling me."

_"This will probably have some ramifications on your finances, Eggsy. It seems that King had been raiding client accounts for years. Hart & Co. had asked for an accounting when they issued the order to transfer control of your income, and King had to scramble. Word leaked out and a number of other clients demanded accountings, too. King decided to take the easy way out and ate his gun,"_ Gideon says, drily.

"Am I bankrupt?"

_"I don't think so - King was dipping into a lot of accounts, not just yours. But there will be an impact."_

Eggsy lets out a deep breath. When the money had started pouring in, he'd bought his mum and Daisy a house and a car in Wales, paid cash for everything; he'd set up trust accounts for Daisy for her schooling and his mum for whatever she wanted. He'd never liked King, and he hadn't wanted the man to control his family's money, so all of that is safe. As for himself, he outright owns his flat and the vintage Jag he'd bought but rarely drives. He could sell it if he has to, sell the flat, too. He doesn't own anyone any money - the bills on the failed tour have already been paid. So, he will take a hit, probably never be a millionaire rockstar again, but that's okay. He has his music.

"I'll be all right, don't worry. What does this mean for the legal case?"

_"The drugs case against you is closed. Unfortunately, Charlie Hesketh will get a free pass - we won't need his testimony against King now. But the Drugs Squad will be watching him, and he'll be picked up again; you can count on that."_

"I guess this is it? Your work is done?"

_"It is, Eggsy. I wish all of my clients were as cooperative and intelligent as you are."_

"Thanks."

_"I hope to hear you perform again. I don't think I ever told you, but I'm a fan."_

Eggsy is surprised at that. The fierce and elegant attorney had never struck him as someone who would enjoy pop music. But that might be a bit of unfortunate stereotyping. "If I ever perform again, I'll send you tickets - backstage passes, even. One for you, one for Detective Inspector Morton."

_"That is something I'm looking forward to. Take care of yourself, Eggsy. And if you ever need my services, I'm just a phone call away."_

After that, Eggsy tries to go back to the music, but he's unreasonably distracted. King's suicide doesn't bother him, but he's annoyed that Charlie is getting off without any jail time, even though he'd tried to kill Eggsy. He puts his guitar away, stops in the kitchen, and then goes to find Kenyon. The steward had finally warmed up to Eggsy after a discussion about roses; Eggsy had been admiring the garden and found Kenyon in the midst of pruning. He'd mentioned that his mum had a rose garden and that when he'd bought the cottage for her, that had been one thing she'd insisted on - roses and lilacs. Eggsy doesn't know a damn thing about roses, but he can listen and learn.

"Afternoon." Eggsy offers Kenyon a flask of tea. 

Kenyon pulls off his heavy leather gloves and takes it. "Thank ye." 

Eggsy takes a sip of his own, and asks if Kenyon wants some help.

"Nay, ye're not dressed for dirty work, and Harry would have my head if anything happened to yer hands. These bushes are deadly." Kenyon carefully pulls back a cluster of leaves to show a branch thick with thorns, some a full inch long.

"Jesus Christ - those could fucking kill you!"

"Watch yer tongue, laddie, and don't take the Lord's name in vain."

Eggsy winces, "Sorry."

Kenyon laughs. "I'm having one on ye, I'm an atheist and couldn't give a shit, but my Lara might come after ye with a cleaver if she hears ye using such foul language. And I'm not talking about the fucking Jaysus, but the fucking fucking."

That caught Eggsy mid-sip and he nearly chokes on the tea. "Harry didn't mention that you're an evil man."

"Aye, and proud of it. Now, what can I do for ye?"

"Nothing, just feeling unsettled. Got some news and well - " Eggsy sighs, "just wanted some company. I can go if I'm bothering you."

"Yer no bother, and I could use a break. Hobbies are supposed to be fun, they're not supposed to kill ye." They sit down at a small table in the center of the rose garden and Kenyon displays a six inch long slice in his work shirt, a matching one in his vest, and a deep scratch on his ribs.

"Shit - don't you need to have that taken care of?"

"Later. Don't use chemicals on the roses or anywhere in the garden, so I won't get sick from a little scratch, but I'll have Lara look at it tonight."

Eggsy frowns and worries just a bit. He's seen guys die from septic needle sticks, no one he's cared about, but still. "Here, have a biscuit. Moria sent these over."

They are munching contemplatively and Eggsy feels the strange stress from Gideon's news begin to dissipate. Chester King was a coward and wanker, as well as a thief, and Eggsy hopes he burns in hell, but there's no more thought Eggsy wants to give to the man.

"Ye doings all right, lad? Ye seem a lot better these last few weeks."

"Yeah, I am. This place is wonderful, and I own Harry a lot for bringing me here. And you and Lara, too. Can't be easy having your home invaded by strangers."

"Achnagairn may be our home, but ye keep forgetting, we work here, lad. Harry pays us good money to manage the estate, and to deal with the Londoners he brings up here to get themselves straightened out. Though I don't think ye needed much to get on the right path."

Eggsy shrugs. "I'd been doing a lot of drinking - sort of comes with the territory. And the career had not been going well, so I - " He grimaces and shakes his head, "was doing shit to help me not think about all the mistakes I'd made, how I'd been persuaded to do things against my better judgment."

"I think it's human nature for the young to trust the old, and ye had no reason to believe that this wanker didn't have yer best interests at heart. But yer free of him now, and yer making yer own decisions."

"Yeah, my brain doesn't get itchy anymore. Don't need the coke and the booze to make me forget."

"Well, that's good to hear." Kenyon replies in laconic fashion. "Achnagairn's like that - it's a good place to heal. Ye know ye're not the first musician Harry's brought up here."

"Yeah, Harry's told me that. That it's why he has the studio and the practice rooms."

"Most of his guests aren't as well behaved as ye are, lad. Most of them are right bastards."

"I figured. We're a bad bunch - " Eggsy's phone rings at that moment, and he sees it's Harry. He thinks he knows why Harry's calling. "Hey there. Gideon told me about Chester."

_"Ah yes, I supposed she would have."_

"Bet you're glad you aren't getting involved with Kingsman."

_"About that …"_

"You're not coming - back - tonight." Eggsy catches himself just before he says "home".

_"No, I can't. Kingsman is a mess. Accounts have been frozen, artists are screaming bloody murder, staff are defecting by the carload. The firm is going to provide a safe landing for quite a few people. So no, I won't be heading back to Achnagairn tonight, or likely for the rest of the week. It's going to be very busy here."_

"Gideon said that Chester killed himself because Hart & Co. was pressuring him about my money. Is that true?"

_"This isn't your fault, Eggsy. Chester violated the first rule - don't touch clients' money. And I think he might have gotten wind about the investigation and his impending arrest. He didn't want to face the consequences of his actions. Don't feel bad about it."_

"It's funny, but I feel worse about you stuck in London in July than Chester offing himself."

_"Let's just say that I'm fairly out of sorts about the whole thing, too."_

"Will you be up for our chats at night, or will you be too busy?"

_"Never too busy for you, my dear boy. I'll text you when I get home, should be around midnight."_

Eggsy relishes the warmth in Harry's voice, he loves how Harry calls him 'my dear boy', even though he knows it's a product of Harry's age and class. "I'll be waiting." Eggsy hangs up and realizes that Kenyon's still sitting there, giving him an odd, knowing look.

"What?"

"Ye and Harry. Didn't realize ye were a thing."

Eggsy shakes his head. "We're not."

"Lad, I know what a man in love looks like, and you are a man in love."

Eggsy doesn't rise to the bait. He gets up and says, "I'm going to tell Lara that the roses wounded you, and you need urgent medical attention."

Kenyon laughs at the threat. "Have it yer way, lad. I won't say anything to Harry. But he's not as blind as you seem to think he is."

Eggsy leaves Kenyon to the roses and goes back to the practice studio; he has an idea for a song and the words need to come out. He works at it for hours, ignoring the text from Lara asking if he wants dinner and it's nearly midnight before his body issues it's final warning. Eggsy leaves the studio, and heads up to his bedroom, where he finds a tray waiting for him. He scarfs down the sandwich and the bowl of berries and heads for the shower.

It should have been a quick wash-up, but the food invigorates him and Eggsy finds himself reaching for his shower gel. As it's been since that night in Carlisle, Eggsy fantasizes about Harry, but this time, it's something more than Harry's face on top of his favorite bits of porn; his arousal comes more from the emotions he's feeling than his libido. He hears Harry calling him "my dear boy" and Eggsy closes his eyes, imagining Harry walking into the shower, and he's behind Eggsy, his body hot and hard against Eggsy's back. But it's not really about sex, it's about tenderness and carrying. Harry washes him, holds him, strokes him, whispers how perfect Eggsy is, how much he admires Eggsy. How awed he is that Eggsy, so young and lovely and talented, wants _him_.

The water washes away Eggsy's orgasm and his tears. He gets out of the shower and wraps himself in the robe he'd "borrowed" from Harry's closet and climbs into bed. The music in his head is a gentle lullaby and calms him better than any drugs ever could. He falls asleep so deeply, so quickly that he doesn't hear his phone buzz with Harry's incoming text.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry had planned to go back to Achnagairn weeks ago, but business has a way of interrupting what really matters and he doesn't actually make it back to Scotland for five long weeks.
> 
> Eggsy had missed him terribly.

Harry doesn't get back to Achnagairn for more than five long, tedious, frustrating weeks. Every time he thinks he's done, something else pops up, but today, he's finally free of all business obligations that require his presence in London. Merlin, Percival and Lancelot have control of their little kingdom - or maybe not so little anymore - and Harry can go back to Scotland with a clear conscience. And an upgraded laptop with better video-conferencing capabilities.

Kenyon picks him up from the tiny Inverness airport on a rainy evening and Harry gratefully relaxes in the Range Rover's passenger seat. 

"Bad flight?"

The short trip had been rocky, bad enough that Harry had reached for the purple air sickness bag - just in case, but he underplays it. "Not the best, I'm just grateful we weren't cancelled." Harry sighs closes his eyes, thinking he might just nap on the trip back to Achnagairn. But that would be rude; Kenyon might be his employee, but he's also Harry's friend. "How are things going?"

Kenyon's equally low-key. "Well enough."

It's a typical stoic Scots, typical Kenyon response, but Harry hears something more in those two words. "That doesn't sound good."

Kenyon lets out a deep sigh. "I like yer lad. He's polite and considerate, a real change from some of the asshats ye've brought to Achnagairn to get themselves sorted out. He treats Lara like she's the lady of the manor, and he's bloody well respectful of me."

"But?"

Kenyon shakes his head. "I really don't know if I should say anything."

Harry grinds his teeth and wants to smack his old friend. "If you don't think you should say something, you shouldn't have started to say anything."

"Fairly put." Kenyon changes lanes to pass a lorry spewing road wash. "He's supposed to be drying out, right?"

Harry nods, dreading where this is going. "He's found his way into the liquor?"

"No, not at the house, at least; hasn't attempted the bar in the salon, hasn't tried to get into the wine cellar. I'd dropped a word with Welton at the off-license in Kirkhill, to let me know if the lad buys anything, but Welton says he hasn't seen him. Thought it would be too much to tell Sandy at the Hound and Hare that the lad's on the wagon and he'd be doing himself - yourself - a favor by not serving him."

"Eggsy's a grown man, it's his choice." Harry sighs, "I'm guessing that Eggsy's drinking at the pub."

"Aye, I think so. And I think he's going into Inverness to drink, too - though he comes home just fine."

Harry is terrified the thought of Eggsy driving while under the influence. "So, it's just supposition? You have no actual proof that Eggsy's drinking." It's possible that Eggsy's going to AA meetings in town, or that he's seeing the counselor that Harry had recommended.

But Kenyon dashes those alternatives. "I don't have proof at all; it's not like I'm following the lad wherever he goes. But Moira mentioned she'd seen Eggsy going into the Hound and the Hare a couple of Wednesday nights, and when Lara collected his laundry this morning, his clothes stank of whisky."

"Ah." Harry is disappointed.

"And still, the lad had been fine this morning. No sign of a hangover. Went for a run when the sun came up, came back and asked me if I needed any help in the garden. I had him pull weeds for two hours before lunch, didn't give me a lick of complaint. He seemed fine. Happy. Even happier when he mentioned that you'd texted him that you'd be home today."

"I did. We tend to chat late at night." Harry doesn't mention to Kenyon that last night had been an exception, Eggsy had left him a text well before the usual time, saying he'd had a bit of a headache and would be retiring fairly early in the evening. Harry doesn't like being lied to.

"Maybe Eggsy has an explanation for what's going on. Maybe it's not what it seems."

"Perhaps, and I'm certainly not going to pounce on him. Like I said, he's an adult and needs to make his own choices, good and bad." Harry hopes like hell that Eggsy isn't drinking, maybe he's just bored and lonely and sitting in a friendly pub is a good way to spend the evening, even if all you're drinking is sparkling water.

The rest of the drive is conducted in relative quiet, the sound of pouring rain punctuated by the whoosh and thud of the windscreen wipers. The sound is soporific and despite the turmoil brought by Kenyon's news, Harry is almost asleep by the time they pull up to Achnagairn.

The dampness revives Harry a bit, and he dodges the raindrops in a dash from the car to the front door. Lara is waiting for him with a towel and there's Eggsy standing behind her, holding a mug of something that Harry hopes is tea.

He trades the towel for the mug, and it is indeed tea, perfectly brewed and sweetened. He finishes it without pause and lets out a hearty sigh as he hands the mug to Lara. 

"Welcome home, Haz." 

Eggsy's fairly brimming with happiness, and Harry says unthinkingly, "Good to be home." He smiles at Eggsy and Eggsy grins back, looking far too young and far too lovely for Harry's peace of mind.

Harry had intended to head right to bed, he's exhausted from the weeks of unremitting crisis management and the rocky flight, but the tea - and Eggsy's smile - have revived him. "Lara, any chance of a light supper?"

"Of course, I have some cold roast chicken and a salad, plus one of Moira's summer tarts, if this scoundrel hasn't helped himself to it."

Eggsy holds his hands up, "Not guilty, ma'am. Learned my lesson about touching the tarts." Eggsy snickers and Lara lets out a startled guffaw. Kenyon just shakes his head, but there's a smile that's fighting hard not to appear.

Harry slings an arm around Eggsy's shoulders, Eggsy drapes an arm around Harry's waist and they head for the kitchens. The close contact feels so right and natural, and Harry does his best to ignore Kenyon's look of concern.

Harry insists on informality and Lara sets out a meal at the kitchen table, telling him "When yer done, just leave the dishes in the sink, I'll take care of them in the morning."

Of course, Harry has no intention of leaving a mess for his house manager, but he's not going to argue. The food is satisfying and while he eats, Harry feels Eggsy's gaze on him. The boy seems eager about something, and while Harry can't ignore Kenyon's uncomfortable suspicions, he can't come close to reconciling them with the clear brightness in Eggsy's eyes.

"You look happy."

"I am. You're home. Missed you."

Harry forebears from reminding Eggsy that Achnagairn really isn't home. "It has to be more than that."

Eggsy nods, as happy as a puppy with his favorite toy. "The music is really back; it's in my head all of the time."

If Harry hadn't spent the majority of his adult life working with creatives, he'd worry about that. But he understands just what Eggsy means. "That is wonderful. Are you able to write?"

"Some. Been tooling around with what I played for you before you'd left. I'm still not a hundred percent happy with it, but it's getting better."

"That piece was lovely and evocative, Eggsy. Maybe you're overthinking it?"

Eggsy shrugs. "Maybe, but I'm still trying to find my style. Before you found me, before Chester stole me, I would have said I wanted to be a rocker - loud and proud and telling stories with the volume cranked to twelve. But I really don't think that's me - like the pop sensation hadn't been me, either."

"Take your time, Eggsy. You are incredibly talented and you're in a unique position. You aren't tied to a contract anymore - not with an agent, a manager or a recording company. You can do what you want."

Eggsy absorbs that. "But I like performing, I love getting up on stage and playing my music. I feel complete when I do - it's the rush of the audience, it's the validation. And even when they boo it, it's still feels okay. It means that someone's listening."

Harry finishes his supper and goes to find the tart Lara had mentioned. It's more than big enough for two people, and Harry brings it back to the table with a knife and two forks and plates. The conversation lapses and the exhaustion that the homecoming had pushed aside returns in full force. 

Eggsy must sense that he's at the end of his reserves and takes care of the clean up. Harry's feeling every one of his fifty-plus years as Eggsy half-hauls him up the stairs. "Do you want some help?"

Harry looks at the bed and wonders if he can just climb into it as is. 

"I guess I have my answer." Eggsy's gentle, implacable, and extremely thorough as he undresses Harry, getting him down to the skin before helping him into the shorts and tee-shirt that serves as his nightwear here at Achnagairn. Eggsy pulls back the covers and pats the mattress. "In you go."

Harry gets in and Eggsy pulls the covers over him. "Sweet dreams, Haz."

Harry must be way too tired; he doesn't seem to have any control when he asks, "What about a good-night kiss?"

Eggsy smiles, looking like an angel, the way the light from the en suite halos him. "Sure thing." Eggsy leans over and brushes his lips against Harry's cheek and Harry closes his eyes with a happy sigh. 

"Night, Eggsy."

"Sweet dreams, Haz." 

Maybe the exhaustion is making him delusional, because he thinks he feels Eggsy kiss him again, this time a fleeting brush of lips on lips. But Harry doesn't open his eyes; he'd prefer not to destroy the illusion.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Eggsy closes Harry's bedroom door and lets out a deep breath. _You are a fucking idiot, Unwin._

Harry could have opened his eyes, he could have seen Eggsy violating the trust between them. But Harry hadn't, he'd fallen asleep and Eggsy had made good his escape. 

He'll fantasize over Harry's lips later, when he showers before bed. Right now, he's got music in his brain, and more importantly, music to make.

The band that Bethany had hooked him up with are the real deal and then some; the first time Eggsy had gone to see them in Inverness, they'd looked at him and asked if he was as much of a twat as he'd come across on Insta. Eggsy had said "bigger" and then explained that his management company had paid someone to do those posts. The guys had laughed and that had been that. Of course, it hadn't hurt that Eggsy had been practicing some of the better known pub tunes that the band like to play and he'd committed himself fairly credibly.

He'd given them two of his new songs, they'd been intrigued enough to write arrangements for the flute, bagpipe, and fiddle parts. Ben, the group's percussionist, had listened to the songs, said he didn't need no stinking sheet music, and would come in when needed. Before Eggsy had found out that Harry would be home tonight, he'd made arrangements to do a remote run-through with the band. He'd been about to push it forward by a few hours, but right now, he's running late. He calls Bethany as he gets into the soundproof practice room, and is relieved that no one's annoyed to be kept waiting.

"Thanks guys, you're the best."

 _"Let's see how we sound before ye start handing out Grammys, laddio."_ That's Sean, the putative leader of the pack.

Eggsy puts his guitar over his knee, checks the tuning, and says, "Then, on three."

They run through the song cold, and Eggsy gets chills up and down his spine. "Jeez, mates. That's something."

Bethany laughs, _"That's putting it mildly. Let's play through it again, make sure it's not a fluke?" ___

__"Hold on, hold on." Eggsy scrambles for the digital recorder a previous user had left behind, silently cursing that his phone can't record its own audio calls. He sets it next to his phone and presses play. "Again, on three."_ _

__The repeat is even better and Eggsy realizes that maybe it's time to share this little miracle. "Guys, got to ask you something."_ _

__Ben, who's quiet and steady and someone that Eggsy immediately trusted, asks, _"What is it, Eggs?"__ _

__"I'd like to bring someone to our next session in Inverness."_ _

__There's a pause before Bethany asks, _"Is that a someone with a capital S?"__ _

__"Yeah, a friend. A good friend."_ _

__Sean asks, _"How good?"__ _

__"He discovered me, was almost my manager until his boss fucked things up. He's the one I'm staying with. And I think he'll like what he hears."_ _

__There's a muffled muttering on the other end of the line. _"Ye want him to hear ye sing? Ye don't need to drag his fine ass to Inverness for that."__ _

__"I want him to hear _us_ perform, Sean. My music, and yours, too. We're a package deal." Eggsy hopes to hell that Harry sees how essential this group is to his music right now, and beyond that, just how good they are._ _

___"Well, who are we to say 'no' when some big time talent manager wants to come see us play? We might be Scottish, but we ain't a bunch of fucking morons."_ _ _

__There's the sound of an open palm smacking the back of someone's head - at least that's what Eggsy hopes has been smacked._ _

__Ronnie, who's usually quieter than Ben, chimes in, _"Sean may think he's as eloquent as Robbie Burns, himself, but he's not wrong. So, please bring the Sassenach. We'll show him what real music sounds like."__ _

__"All right, I'll let you know when he'll be there."_ _

___"Give us some advance notice, would ye? We'd like to be ready to put on a bit of a show."_ _ _

__Eggsy feels a moment of regret for actually asking if he could bring Harry, because god only knows what Sean means by putting on a bit of a show. "Will do. I'll call Bethany once we get sorted out."_ _

__Everyone says goodnight and Eggsy pockets his phone and the recorder. He doesn't know if he wants to share that with Harry before he takes him to Inverness, but he wants to listen to it and figure out what makes this work._ _

__The recorder isn't so old that Eggsy can't transfer the file to his laptop and then to his phone. The quality, of course, is pretty shite, since the band is playing over the phone and his guitar and voice dominates, but every time he listens, he gets goosebumps._ _

__He leaves the recorder on the bureau, a reminder to take it back to the practice room for the next time, and goes to shower._ _

__Tonight, Eggsy doesn't masturbate. It feels wrong, somehow. Not because Harry's in the house, but because of the kiss. He wants to savor that moment - it is, after all, the first time he, Eggsy Unwin, has kissed a bloke on the lips. Yeah, he'd stolen the kiss, but it's still his first and something to be treasured._ _

__The music is rattling around his head, words falling into place, and Eggsy reaches for the notebook and pencil he keeps on the night stand. He's not even conscious of what spills out, just that it has to get out and onto the page. Once it's done, Eggsy tucks the book away and settles down for a night's sleep, thinking about Harry's lips and the music in his head._ _

__The morning brings more gray skies and Harry in an uncertain mood._ _

__At first, Eggsy thinks his stolen kiss is to blame for the lack of conversation over the breakfast table, but when Harry's phone rings and the man all but throws his fork across the room after checking the caller ID, Eggsy realizes that it has nothing to do with him and everything to do with what's going down in London. Although Harry excuses himself and takes the call on the patio outside the breakfast room, Eggsy can hear him. He's not exactly shouting, he's just talking loudly, pacing and behaving like someone utterly frustrated._ _

__Harry apologies when he returns. "Sorry about that."_ _

__"What's wrong?" Eggsy hopes Harry doesn't have to head back to London._ _

__"Two of the people we hired from Kingsman defected. Decided, after stringing us along for weeks, to go with Creative Artists instead."_ _

__"What a pair of wankers."_ _

__"Well put, my boy. I'm just frustrated at the amount of time I wasted in negotiations with them."_ _

__"Yeah, when you could have been home." Eggsy realizes this isn't the first time he's called this place home. "Here. You know what I mean."_ _

__Harry smiles gently. "Sometimes Achnagairn does feel like home. And yes, I'm pissed that I could have been here, with you."_ _

__Eggsy feels a warm flush steal over his whole body. Of course Harry means that in a professional capacity, not romantically. "I have missed you, you big goof."_ _

__"And I've missed you, Eggsy." Harry fiddles with his napkin, as if that declaration had embarrassed him. "So, tell me, how have you been spending your time here at Achnagairn? Kenyon speaks highly of you."_ _

__"Kenyon's aces. And I think he'd speak well about anyone who's willing to pull his bloody weeds. You'd think he was the gardener, not the steward."_ _

__"Well, his mother had been the head gardener, and I think he'd have been happy inheriting that position - instead of following in his father's footsteps and becoming the steward here, but he has too good of a head for land management for me not to take advantage. I suspect, when he gets a replacement properly trained, I'll be forced to let him take over the gardens full time. And Kenyon has mentioned that he is quite impressed with your gardening skills, too."_ _

__Eggsy shakes his head at that. "We bonded over roses. My mum's cottage in Wales has a massive rose garden, and I learned little bit about about the thorny bastards when I bought it for her, so yeah - we've got a bit in common. And he's an all right guy - thinks the world of you. Didn't like me at first, probably thought I was just some drugged out punk sponging off your good heart. But we've come to an agreement about some basic facts."_ _

__"Oh, and what are those?"_ _

__Eggsy can't keep the grin off his face, "That Harry Hart's pretty much the best person in the world."_ _

__"Well, thank you." And Eggsy's managed to embarrass Harry again, that's clear when he deftly changes the subject. "Other than helping Kenyon out in the garden, what else has kept you occupied?"_ _

__Eggsy thinks this might be the perfect opening to tell Harry about the band in Inverness, but Harry's mobile rings again and Harry lets out an impressive string of curses before answering it._ _

__Eggsy doesn't know if he's relieved or annoyed at the interruption._ _

____

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had planned to finish posting this today, but I am sick as a dog (how does someone get bronchitis in the height of summer?) and can barely manage to sit up, let alone form coherent sentences. Also, the epilogue still needs a bit of tweaking. Forgive me for the delay.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy starts to tell Harry about his new friends, but Harry completely misinterprets what Eggsy is saying. However, this lack of comprehension leads to a greater truth.

It really does seem like the world is conspiring againt Harry getting a chance to spend some quality time with Eggsy. After Merlin called with the news about the deal with those two wankers falling apart, James needed his input on allocation of office space for the new hires. Apparently, they won't be able to accelerate the buildout of the unused floors in the building that Hart & Co. owns - something to do with permitting. As much as he respects James, he wishes that his partner would show a bit more initiative. Just because it's Harry's name on the door doesn't mean that he has to approve every fucking change in the floor plan.

Then Merlin calls back. Wanker-One had reconsidered CA's offer and wants back with Hart & Co. Harry had told Merlin to tell the bastard to go spit, except Merlin emails the guy's client list, which is packed with A-listers that generate a lot of revenue. Harry tells Merlin to negotiate with him, but Hart & Co. will take him back at the original financial offer, provided that the man agrees to a rather tight set of golden handcuffs.

"Please tell me that's it. I'm honestly at the end of my rope, Merlin."

 _"Ye know I wish I could say, 'Aye, this is it. Time for ye to sit back and relax in yer Highland palace,' but ye know that there's no rest for the wicked. Ye running a powerful business, one that's become even more powerful over the last few months. All because ye'd gotten fixated on a pretty young man with a golden voice and some terrible addictions."_

"Yes, well." Harry rubs the back of his neck, uncomfortable with the truth. "And Eggsy doesn't seem to be that much of an addict, after all." He tells Merlin that Eggsy's embraced sobriety with surprising ease, but Kenyon's comments from the other night - about Eggsy being seen entering the pub in Kirkhill and coming home smelling of liquor - remain unsaid.

_"It's never that easy, Harry. It all might seem smooth sailing now, but the proof will be when the lad's faced with a personal challenge, when he doesn't have the support network that Achnagairn provides. When he's back in London and living on his own day-to-day, he could fall off the wagon very easily. Nothing is this simple."_

Harry knows, and he knows he's lying to himself. He needs to find the right moment to talk to Eggsy about everything. They've just had too many interruptions and Harry hasn't had the chance to broach the subject carefully; one wrong word and he'll undo the trust between them.

Hoping that business in London can proceed without him for a few hours, Harry heads down to the practice rooms, hoping to find Eggsy hard at work, hoping for a chance to hear some magic being made.

But all of the doors are open, and the studio is dark, too. Disappointed, Harry returns to the main level, and to his study, where he finds the object of his quest.

"Hey, Harry. Hope you don't mind if I set up shop in your office - the wi-fi signal's the strongest here."

"No, of course not." Harry's intensely curious about what Eggsy's working on, but it becomes obvious when he puts on a set of headphones - professional quality, over-the-ear kind.

His curiosity isn't satisfied when Eggsy takes off the headphones and shuts down his computer an hour later. 

"Everything all right?"

Eggsy smiles, and there's something a bit secretive in his expression that sets Harry on edge.

"Everything's really good. I know I'm repeating myself, but I can't thank you enough for bringing me up here. It's changed everything for me."

"I would say it's nothing, but it's not. I let you down when I didn't fight harder for you - if I had, I don't think you've have ended up in that hospital bed."

Eggsy shrugs, clearly a bit uncomfortable at the reminder of how his life had almost ended. "Yeah, but that's not what I mean. Achnagairn has been great for helping me get clean and sober, but it's more than that."

"Oh?" Harry toys with a pen on his desk. He has the feeling Eggsy's about to reveal something momentous.

"I met someone."

Harry feels his stomach drop. All of his foolish desires are proven pointless. "Really?"

"Yeah, she - Bethany - is fantastic."

Harry doesn't want to hear this. Not just now. "I wish you every happiness."

Eggsy frowns, "What?"

Harry plows on, like a freight train without functioning brakes. "She does know who you are, right? Because you need to be protected. I might not be your manager, but I am your friend - " That word tastes like sawdust in his mouth, "and as a friend and someone who's worked in the industry for decades, I've seen how opportunistic people can be. They latch on; prey on your goodwill and affection, and then milk you dry. And in this day and age, with the internet and cell phones and cameras, you can find yourself plastered over every celebrity gossip site before you take off your condom and put your shorts back on."

"Harry, what are you going on about? Me and Bethany? It's not like that."

"I hope not, Eggsy, but you're a wealthy man, you may have experienced a blip in your career, but you'll be back on top soon enough, and even if this girl - this Bethany - " Harry can't keep the distaste out of his tone when he says her name, "may not be out for what your celebrity can give her right now, but when your relationship become public, she's going to be faced with some pretty high-pressure sales tactics. Tabloids and gossip sites can offer a lot of money for the right picture."

"You're bonkers, Harry. And you're not even listening to me." Eggsy sounds more sad than angry at Harry's slander of his new girlfriend.

"I'm just worried about you. I don't know what Chester told you about dating, but since I've never seen or heard any news about who you'd dated, at least that part of his advice must have been sound. If you're wise, continue to follow it."

Now Eggsy is furious. "Chester? That fucking homophobic dickweed? He told me that if I so much as got my picture taken with a guy, he'd not only fire my ass, he'd sue me for breach of contract and see that I couldn't even get a job washing out the gents in a jazz club in Luton. I ain't dating Bethany, Harry. Not only is she queer, so am I. And I'll fucking sick and tired of being in the closet. So fuck Chester's advice and fuck you!" Tears are pouring down Eggsy's face.

There's dead silence in the room; the ambient noise, the pattering of the rain against the windows, even Eggsy's sniffles are muffled. It's as if someone's slipped that pair of headphones over Harry's ears and turn up the white noise. "What did you say?"

Eggsy wipes his eyes. "You heard me."

"You said that you're queer." Harry's own voice sounds like it's half a mile away. He's not even sure he's in the same room.

"Yeah, queer as a three-quid note. Bent. Gay. Homo. Pillow-biter. Faggot." Eggsy laughs, sourly. "Don't know how Chester found out, ain't like I'd been seeing anyone or anything. Maybe he smelled it on me."

Apropos of nothing, Harry numbly says, "Chester had a very strange talent - he could pick out a gay man within five minutes of meeting him. I'd always wondered if the bastard had been a closet case, but I'll guess we'll never know."

"That's all you've got to say?"

"I - I really don't know. I had no clue, Eggsy. I guess my own gaydar is not very good." Harry sinks in on himself, ashamed by his lack of perception. "I'm sorry." That seems like such a weak apology, he should be grovelling. 

"That I'm a faggot?"

"Don't use that word as a weapon. Especially against me." Harry scrubs his face. "Why didn't you tell me? Of all the people, why not?"

Eggsy looks abashed when he shrugs. "Dunno. Told no one, ever. Not even my mum knows. Chester had me terrified, and before that, it was Dean. He would always threaten to make me go out and sell my ass on Smith Street. If he knew I was bent, he'd have probably passed me around to his muppets to teach me a lesson."

"The man is dead, right?" Harry half wishes Eggsy's stepfather was still alive; he has some interesting contacts who owe him a few favors and know a couple of tricks with furnaces and tire irons.

But Eggsy dashes those hopes. "Yeah, got shanked in prison. I don't know who did the deed, but I've always been grateful to him."

"I'm sorry for what Chester did to you." Those are still such meaningless words.

"But you understand why he did, right? You agree with that strategy, right? Can't have a faggot pop star?" Eggsy sounds so sad, so defeated.

Harry wants to rage but keeps a tight rein on his tongue. "Stop painting me with the same brush, Eggsy. What he did was an abomination. If I could drag him out of the grave and beat him to a bloody pulp, I would. And I own you an even greater apology. No one should be forced to live a lie. It's no wonder you drank, did drugs. I'm only surprised that you hadn't gone full bore into self-destruction in your misery. You must have had some very understanding lovers."

Eggsy shakes his head, telling him, "You don't get it, Haz. When I said I told no one, I meant no one. Ain't ever been with a bloke. Not even a hand job in the bog. No one's even kissed me. Twenty-five years old, traveled all over the world, made a fortune and lost a big part of it, too, and I'm still a virgin. More virgin that a sixteen year old girl thinking about entering a convent, likely. Can't remember the last time I've even been hugged – except maybe by you that day in Kirkhill."

Without thinking, Harry gets up and goes to Eggsy, wrapping his arms around him. Eggsy freezes for a second and responds, melting against Harry, burrowing into Harry like he wants to live under Harry's skin. Harry feels Eggsy shaking, shuddering and Harry doesn't hesitate to hold him tighter, apologizing for everything that's happened, for all of the misunderstandings, whispering that it'll be all right, that he'll never let go.

He pulls Eggsy over to the couch and sits, letting Eggsy cuddle next to him. His heart is breaking for Eggsy all over again, to be so closed off and denying one of the most components of the human condition – the need to love and be loved. He really does want to drag Chester out of the grave and beat the shit out of him.

But rather than focus on the impossible, Harry dedicates himself to soothing Eggsy's wounded soul. He whispers words of comfort and understanding, keeping his arms around Eggsy in a very careful hold. Harry knows he's been lucky all of his life – despite his parents initial reaction to the early revelation of his sexuality, they'd quickly come around, providing unwavering love and support. He'd come to understand that the attempts to change him had been their way to protect their son from a world that would treat him with cruelty, and when they'd realized how damaging that path was to Harry's psyche, they'd changed tack, supporting him in the face of censure by their own peers and friends. It hadn't been easy for his family, but Harry had always been secure in their love.

Eggsy, though, he'd never had that. He'd grown up hiding who he is, denying the very essence of his identity and then threatened with the worst kind of blackmail from someone he should have been able to rely on. 

And Harry has to take a shot at himself. He should have seen through the veneer that Chester had created. Even a superstar like Eggsy would have had a girlfriend, or if not, then a reputation as a ladies' man – a necessary part of the rock and pop star's image, especially as he'd gotten older. The absence of rumor should have been a big hint about the truth, except that Chester probably had a team of publicists fending off the gossip press. Harry might want to set one of the firm's interns on how Chester managed to do this, but it's not relevant anymore. 

Eggsy will come out when and if he wants, and Harry will be there, supporting him completely.

"Hey, sorry about that." Eggsy looks up at Harry, eyes bloodshot, face splotchy. "Didn't mean to explode all over you like that."

Harry manages to get his handkerchief out and gives it to Eggsy. "Nothing to worry about. I deserved your anger."

Eggsy still looks ashamed. Harry tucks a finger under Eggsy's chin, raising his face up so their eyes meet. "You've done nothing wrong and you owe no one an apology. I'm the one who is sorry and ashamed."

That earns Harry a watery smile. "You're really too good, Haz. Like a fucking angel or something."

"Just a man, Eggsy. One who cares about you very deeply." There is so much truth in those words.

Eggsy stares at him, his head tilted, his face grave. "I am about to do something that might be really fucking stupid."

"Nothing you could do is stupid, Eggsy." 

"Oh yeah? Just wait." Eggsy's smiles and the next thing Harry knows, Eggsy is kissing him. His brain short circuits and all intelligence evaporate under the sweet pressure of Eggsy's lips and the weight of him pressing Harry into the couch.

Harry cups his hands around Eggsy's face, letting Eggsy devour him until it's too much and Harry takes over, slowing Eggsy down, showing Eggsy what he enjoys by example. Desire rides him, but age and experience lets him keep tight rein on it. But Eggsy has no such control and he's like a mad thing as he ruts between Harry's thighs.

Even though he's under control of himself, Harry relishes Eggsy's lack of control, and when Eggsy shudders in his climax, Harry holds him close, relishing Eggsy's heat and mass, the delicious weight of that beautiful body on top of him.

They lie together, panting. Harry wonders where his conscience has gone to, because he can't find any reason to feel guilty about this. Eventually Eggsy looks up at him.

"Haz?"

"Yes, my dear boy."

"So, that wasn't stupid?"

"Not unless you regret it."

"I don't. Not at all."

"I find I can't regret it, either. You've been something of an idée fixe for me for the last few months and I've had to content myself with naughty daydreams."

Eggsy laughs. "You wanked over me?"

"Over thoughts of you, yes." Harry now worries. "Does that disgust you?"

"Hardly, since I've been beating myself raw over my own naughty daydreams about you."

It's Harry's turn to laugh.

"I really like you, Haz. I mean …" Eggsy bites his lip and looks up from under his lashes. The boy is a temptation personified. "I didn't know how to tell you I was gay. Like I hoped you'd figure it you."

"I'm sorry I didn't." Harry's truly ashamed he hadn't. It would have made life a lot easier.

Eggsy cuddles against him. "Where do we go from here?"

Harry has plenty of ideas, most of them rather obscene. But he knows that he can't rush this, whatever _this_ is. "What do you want?"

"I was kind of hoping you'd say, 'let's go to bed', but I guess I need to spell it out. I want you, Harry. Can I have you?"

Harry can't resist and kisses Eggsy again. "You can."

"Now?" Eggsy looks at him with shining eyes, his whole being aglow with happiness.

Harry feels himself trembling, like he's the virgin. He licks his lips and Eggsy swoops in for another kiss. When Harry can think, can speak again, his voice is a bit thin and reedy. "I think a bedroom would be better than the couch."

Eggsy nods. "I gotta ask, because I'm not stupid - you got lube and condoms?"

Harry thanks whatever god looks over horny vacationers. "Actually, yes. I went to the Maldives over the holidays, and well - it pays to be prepared. " He can't believe he's embarrassed.

"You're a regular boy scout? Always prepared for any eventuality?"

"That's one way to put it." Harry grins and slides out from under Eggsy. "Want to shock the maids or should we take the back stairs?"

Eggsy bites his lip, not to entice, but in worry. "Back stairs, I guess." He looks down at his denims, the faded blue doesn't do a great job of disguising the wetness.

Harry pulls Eggsy to his feet, kisses him again, and takes him through the passages that line the house and when Eggsy comments on how well-lit they are, Harry has an amusing answer, "My great-grandmother used to sneak out to her lover using these - which is why they are fully electrified. My great-grandfather didn't want his wife breaking her neck on her way to and from the housekeeper's bed."

That gets a bright laugh from Eggsy. "And don't tell me, your great-grandfather also used them, to visit the housekeeper, too?"

"No, the head groom."

Harry, who'd played hide and seek in the passages with Lara and Kenyon as a child, has no problem finding his room. Of course, the plan to keep the housemaids from knowing what they are up to are foiled when they open the door to find young Susan changing the sheets.

It's an awkward moment, but the girl sniffs, finishes with the bed, and leaves without saying a work.

Harry sighs. "Oh well, the whole village will know by dinnertime that we're not about a bit of afternoon delight."

"Ain't that a song? Some catchy American tune about fireworks and fishing?"

Harry growls, "Don't start, unless you want me to have an ear worm that's impossible to get rid of."

Eggsy looks like he's about to start to hum the blasted tune, but thinks better of it. He twists his hands and asks, "So what now? 

Harry realizes in an instant that Eggsy's silliness had been a way to cover his anxiety. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to. Just because you've come out to me doesn't mean we have to go all the way." Harry hopes he sounds reassuring.

"You've already made me jizz myself, Haz." Eggsy gestures to the still damp front of his denims. "Liked it, liked that you made me lose control."

"I liked that I could do that to you, too, my dear boy."

"Am I?" Eggsy looks at him, his eyes filled with hope, with desire.

Harry holds out his hand and Eggsy takes it and lets Harry pull him towards the bed. "You are, you are the most important person in my world and I can't imagine my life without you in it."

Eggsy sighs and leans into Harry. "I've never been that to anyone. Maybe my mum and da, before he died, but no one's ever told me that - in so many words."

Harry can't imagine a life like that, a life so bereft of love and affection. He wants to tell Eggsy that he loves him, but it's too soon. It would be too easy to manipulate Eggsy's emotions. Better leave to words unspoken for now, let Eggsy draw strength from his obvious affections, until his wings grow strong and he can fly away.

Eggsy sighs and nuzzles against Harry's chest. "I thought I wanted everything tonight - I thought it would be easy to just give into the moment, you know?"

"Yes, darling, I do know. But there's no shame in taking time. In becoming familiar with your body's needs and your brain's desires."

Eggsy looks up at him, and Harry can see the imp of mischief there. "Will you get naked for me, Haz?"

Harry unbuttons his cardigan and tosses it towards the foot of the bed. He feels he must warn Eggsy, "I'm over fifty and my days are mostly spent behind a desk - I'm not the creature of physical perfection that you are. I hope you're not disappointed."

Eggsy makes a rude noise. "You're right fit, Haz. And it ain't a package of muscles that I'm interested in - can get that off the internet. It's you. Yeah, you're fucking hot in those suits, and even the dad cardigan, but you see me the way no one else has. And that's why I want to be with you." Eggsy shrugs and looks a bit lost. "Does that make any sense?"

"It makes perfect sense." Harry unbuttons his shirt and lets it hang open. In the more casual atmosphere of Achnagairn and in deference to the summer day, he'd skipped the vest. So Eggsy gets a full view of his torso; Harry might have played the age card, but he is honestly pleased with his own body. It's not what it used to be, but it's not flabby or saggy, either. 

Eggsy reaches out and runs a palm across Harry's chest, his touch gentle and curious. "Never touched another bloke like this before."

"I'm sorry for that, Eggsy."

"Why? Thought most blokes would be happy to be the first."

Harry smiles at Eggsy's perspicacity. "That is true, and yes - for me - there will be a delight in being your first. But you're an adult man who has been terribly manipulated, made to bury your desires, your identity, and you've been cheated out of what should have been."

To Harry's surprise, Eggsy shrugs. "Don't know if things would have been any different. A pop singer being gay? Can't really sell the fantasy if the teen girls are all thinking I'd rather be fucking their brother." Despite Eggsy's negativity, he's still touching Harry, still exploring and it's making Harry just a bit crazy. 

Eggsy ghosts his fingers over Harry's nipples, and asks, "Do you like that?"

"Very much." Harry can't help a shiver as Eggsy scuffs his thumbs - with their guitar calluses - over the sensitive skin. "Would you like me to touch you?"

Eggsy whole being lights up - he's practically incandescent in the gray afternoon light. "Yeah, I'd like that - a lot." He stands up nd pulls off his jumper and vest in a single move, then without a second's hesitation, strips off the rest of his clothes. It's only when Eggsy hops about, trying to get off his socks, that Harry can catch his breath. Eggsy is simply gorgeous. 

He's not a boy - not with the well-developed muscles and the light furring between his pecs. But there's still a bit of coltish grace that tells Harry that youth isn't so far in the past. 

Finally, Eggsy is naked and he's standing there, hands fisted and on his hips, unconsciously - perhaps - mimicking the classic Superman pose. "Well?"

Harry can hear so much uncertainty in that single word, and he could hurt Eggsy so easily. Harry chooses his own words with care. "You are the most beautiful man I've ever seen, and you awe me."

Eggsy gives him an up-from-under look that sends Harry's pulse racing even harder. He whispers, "Thank you."

The pleasure builds between them, although Eggsy is a bit shy when Harry asks if he could put his mouth on Eggsy's cock. "Ain't washed up since - well, before."

"That's quite all right, my darling." Although it's not one of Harry's particular kinks, he's not going to let Eggsy go and start second guessing himself and his desires.

And in truth, it's no hardship to bring Eggsy to pleasure, to see him writhing on Harry's bed, hearing his moans and incoherent begging fill the air. Finally, the room is silent, except for the sated panting of both men.

Eggsy reaches for Harry, the gesture slightly flailing, muttering about it's Harry's turn for pleasure.

Harry's quick to quiet Eggsy, assuring him that there's plenty of time for that and Eggsy should relax and not worry about such things.

"But I want to, Haz. Want to make you feel so good, like I do." Harry settles Eggsy against the pillows, but Eggsy reaches for him. "You're still in your clothes? How come?"

"Because I wanted to make you feel good, Eggsy. I didn't want to waste a single moment."

"Mmm, okay. Later then?" Eggsy closes his eyes, finally letting the aftermath take over.

"Definitely." Harry looks down at himself, at the stain on the front of his trousers. Later might be a while, but that's just fine.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, the music referenced by Harry and Eggsy in the middle of the chapter:
> 
> [Afternoon Delight](https://youtu.be/wu1UXCdyNo0) \- Starland Vocal Band (Starland Vocal Band) 
> 
> I urge you to listen/watch this masterpiece of "wholesome" mid-1970s American harmonization. It is delightfully tacky and the singers know it. They look like they should be performing in front of a non-denominational megachurch in Kansas (the kind the promotes father/daughter purity vows), but they are singing about fucking in the middle of the day. I also suggest you avoid it if you are the least susceptible to ear worms.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy finally gets a chance to tell Harry about his friends in Inverness, and of course, Harry is most eager to meet them.

For the first time in his life, Eggsy wakes up naked and in bed with another man. Harry is spooning him and Eggsy lets himself absorb the sensations of the embrace, of the warmth of the body behind him. It's so strange, after a lifetime of waking up alone, but it's also a feeling he hopes to experience most of the mornings for the rest of his life.

Preferably with Harry.

Right after that thought, Eggsy's bladder chooses to make itself known and he squirms against Harry's embrace.

"What's the matter?" Harry's bed voice is way too seductive.

"Gotta pee, sorry."

Harry lets go. "All right."

Eggsy hops out of bed and goes to the bathroom. He relieves the pressure in his bladder and washes up. He glances at the mirror and doesn't see any difference between himself now and the Eggsy of a few hours ago. He smiles at the silliness of that expectation. Just because he's not a virgin again more doesn't mean that he's going to have "sexually experienced at last" magically tattooed on his forehead. 

On his way out of the bathroom, he meets Harry on the way in and they smile at each other. Eggsy's relieved, there's no awkwardness between them - so far. He picks up his clothes, and Harry's, and can't help but grin at the similar crusty condition of both their pants. His denims and Harry's trousers are in the same condition.

"Yes, my boy - I had absolutely no control over my body. You should be proud - I haven't come in my pants since my first year at university." Harry comes out of the bathroom, wrapped in a red satin robe, sex hair combed back and just the tiniest smudge of toothpaste on the corner of his mouth.

Eggsy finds the sight of groomed-yet-ungroomed Harry utterly delightful. He reaches up and kisses that little bit of white away. 

Harry growls and kisses him back and Eggsy likes it. He likes how Harry is taking over, but still giving Eggsy every chance to say no.

"Are we going to fuck? You going to fuck me? Want that so bad, want to feels everything."

Harry growls again, but this time it's not sexy. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry? Why? What's wrong?" Eggsy rubs himself against Harry, liking the feel of satin against his skin, but not liking the absence of Harry's arousal.

"This is what happens when your lover is my age. Without prescription enhancement, I'm not good for more than once a day." Harry now looks ashamed.

"Ah, right. Biology." Eggsy remembers his mum commenting once, more to herself than to him, that she was glad Dean was getting to the point where he couldn't get it up more than once every few days. At the time, Eggsy had thought Michelle had been referring to all the drugs Dean had done, but maybe not. 

"I'm sorry, Eggsy." 

"Don't be - it ain't like you won't be good tomorrow, right? Or whenever. I've waited this long, what's another day?"

Harry holds him so gently, so carefully. "I don't think I deserve you."

"Eh, I may end up being more trouble than I'm worth."

"Oh, I think you're going to be a lot of trouble."

Eggsy looks up at Harry, hurt until he sees Harry smiling. 

"The very best kind of trouble. Now, what do you say we spend what's left of this lovely gray afternoon in bed?"

Eggsy can't think of anything better to do - although he does kind of feel like there's a song in Harry's words. It's something to mull over. He gets into bed and Harry takes off his robe, climbing in behind him.

The rain gently patters against the window, a pleasing counterpoint to Harry's steady breathing. Eggsy doesn't feel sleepy, but he finds himself drifting, and there are vague threads of melody and lyrics taking root. Over the years, Eggsy's learned not to worry if he can't hold onto them - the good ones stick around in his brain.

"Eggsy?" 

"Yeah, Harry?"

"I just remembered something."

When Harry doesn't continue, Eggsy rolls over to face him. "What?"

"Downstairs, before - when I found you in my office, you started to tell me something. You'd said you'd met a girl."

Eggsy rolls his eyes, completely floored that he'd forgotten that he'd tried to tell Harry about Bethany, and the wrong conclusion Harry had jumped to. "Yeah, but obviously, it's not what you'd thought." He sits up. This isn't a conversation to have lying down.

"Clearly." Harry's tone in bone dry. "Unless you want her to be your beard."

"No, no way. Bethany's girlfriend would gut us both." Eggsy tells Harry about his trip to the music store, about meeting Bethany - an unlikely looking fan - and about the girl's offer to introduce him to her own band, that they would be able to teach him a bit about trad.

Harry says nothing until Eggsy finishes. "Well?"

"That wasn't what I expected to hear. You've been working with them since I left for London?"

"Yeah, not a really long time - five weeks? I went to see them the day after I met Bethany. Played a bit for them, got the feel of their music. It's been working out really well."

"Ah."

Eggsy can see Harry's worried. "You think I've been an idiot - trusting strangers? That they're going to steal my music? Or sell what I'm doing to the tabloids?"

Harry frowns. "Yes, to be honest, it's a big concern. But you've been playing with them for this long, and they haven't done anything, I suspect you're okay to trust them."

"Thank goodness. They're an interesting bunch - all really excellent musicians, but all kind of unique. And we sound really good. I've learned a lot, they like playing what I've written." Eggsy is suddenly swamped with a wave of self-doubt. "Or at least that's what they tell me."

Harry must see the effect of his concerns, because he's quick to reassure Eggsy. "I'm a talent manager, it's my job to be suspicious. It's your job to be a musician."

"But I'm an idiot for trusting strangers?"

"No, it just means that despite all the crap that you've gone through, you've still got an open mind and a trusting soul. That's something you should be proud of." Harry strokes his cheek, "I know it's something about you that I treasure."

Eggsy lets out a sigh of relief. "You'll like these guys. The band's got two blokes, Sean and Ben, and two birds, Bethany and Ronnie. Sean is Bethany's brother, Ben's Sean's partner and Ronnie's Bethany's girlfriend - so it's a nice, closed circle. They'd been looking for a guitarist and a new lead vocal for a while. The pub nights are mostly instrumental, but they'd done a fair bit of vocal music until their singer went back to Ireland."

Harry has a bunch of questions and Eggsy answers them easily. Finally, Harry says, "I want to meet them."

At that, Eggsy rolls his eyes. "Yeah, well, that's why I'd started to tell you about Bethany. We had a phone session last night and I said I wanted to bring a friend. And important friend."

"I'm sorry I'd jumped to conclusions." Then Harry laughs. "Actually, no I'm not." He runs a hand up Eggsy's torso and Eggsy shivers, loving Harry's touch.

"Yeah, not sorry either." Eggsy likes this, just being with Harry, the closeness, the warmth of skin on skin. He feels safe.

"I don't suppose you have a recording of your friends playing, maybe with you as well? I'd like to hear how they sound."

"Of course I do! Want to hear them now?"

Harry gives him a look that just about screams, _why do you even ask me that?_

Eggsy gets out of bed and retrieves his cell phone; a few taps and he has the song he'd recorded last night with the gang. "It's shite quality, but you'll be able to get a sense of what we're doing."

He taps the play button and the music plays, but Eggsy really doesn't hear it - he concentrates on Harry's face, hoping for approval, but expecting the opposite. Harry, though, does a very good job of giving nothing away. At least until he demands that Eggsy play it again. And again.

Finally, Harry speaks. "Please tell me that none of your friends have signed with a management agency."

Eggsy grins and shakes his head. "They play in a local in Inverness, like a hundred other trad groups. And I managed to convince them to come down to Kirkhill to do a few sets on open mic night at the Hound and the Hare."

"Did you play with them?" There's something a little odd in Harry's tone, but Eggsy stays focused.

"I never sat in for a whole set, since I don't have the full repertoire down - though that's coming along quickly. They've let me sit in on one or two songs, and I have to say I do a rather mean version of _The Queen of Argyll_." He sings a few lines from the rollicking ballad and gets a pleased smile from Harry.

"That's one of my favorites."

"Cool. But about the band - you think they're good?"

Harry nods, "Very good. Better than very good - even with the crappy recording, I can hear the spark. I'd sign them even if you weren't playing with them."

That feels like a gift. "When do you want to go into Inverness and meet with them?"

Harry looks like he's weighing a few options. "I'd like to hear them first. Would that be a problem?"

Eggsy doesn't think so, "They'll be at The North Star tonight. I've told them I'd like them to meet you, but didn't give them any timelines. We can go tonight - I can let them know I'd like to sit in, no singing - if that's good for you."

"You can sing if you'd like. I have a feeling that you are the rising tide for your band." 

Eggsy is confused. "What do you mean by that?"

"All boats rise with the incoming tide - you are good, so they perform better." Harry explains, and then adds, "and they are very good to begin with."

"Yeah, they are." Eggsy gathers his courage and tells Harry his second big secret. "I really love trad. I don't want to give up writing my own stuff, but I want to have a lot of traditional music on whatever I produce going forward. I know it'll never be a commercial sensation - I'm not going to play the O2 singing _Scots Wha' Hae_ , but I can live without that kind of fame." He looks at Harry, hoping that Harry won't tell him that he's making a big mistake. "What do you think?"

Harry doesn't pull his punches. "I think you need to write and play the kind of music that means something to you. Chester nearly ruined you by forcing you into a mold of his making. If you want to remake yourself as a traditional artist, you don't need my blessing, but you'll have it. If you want something that balances your more commercial skills with your love for the traditional sound - which is where I think you're heading with that song you've shared with me - then you'll have my blessing for that, too. Again, not that you need them."

Despite the words, Eggsy can hear some hesitation. "And yet, you don't seem thrilled, Haz."

Harry lets out a little laugh. "It's not your choice of musical inspiration or style that's worrying me, far from it. I think that this is a very savvy choice and you will sing _Scots Wha' Hae_ in the O2 if that's what you want."

"But?"

Harry's words knock the breath out of him. "I can't be both your manager and your lover, Eggsy. It wouldn't be fair to either of us."

Eggsy feels Harry's words like a stab in the heart. "I don't understand, why can't you be both? I don't give a fuck about the optics, if that's your problem."

Harry is the voice of reason and experience, and Eggsy fucking hates it. "Optics are a concern, but not the significant one." Harry takes a moment, like he's searching for words that aren't going to hurt. "It's more a matter of fairness for you, darling. A good manager has to be objective - and I can't be objective anymore. Not with you." Harry smiles ruefully. "And in the long run, you'll be happier."

Eggsy stares at Harry, trying to see if he can read something else into those words. "I trust you. You wouldn't work against me, you wouldn't have me do shit - even if it brings in the dosh. You're nothing like Chester."

"No, thank god I'm not, and I will stand behind any decision you make, but I don't think - for your sake - that I should be juggling a personal and professional role in your life."

"Oh, fuck - of course." Eggsy shakes his head, finally realizing what it would mean if Harry did become his manager. "You ain't going to work for free, and I would start to resent you taking your twenty percent - wondering if you were just with me for the money."

Harry nods, "And if the time comes when we're no longer together - "

Eggsy shakes his head, wanting to deny what Harry's saying.

"Listen to me, Eggsy - I'm saying that _if_ we don't last, not _when_ we aren't together anymore - you'll need to trust that your manager has your best interests at heart. And I'm not saying I wouldn't - but I don't want you to ever have that worry. If you want to walk away from this, you have to be able to - not stick with me because you think you have to."

Eggsy isn't happy, but he's not going to be stupid about this, not when he knows that Harry's right. "I think I understand. You're protecting both of us."

"Yes, but you most of all. If you want to stay with Hart & Co., I'll set up interviews with a few people I think will work best for you, otherwise I can make some recommendations, and I'm going to insist you retain your own solicitors to negotiate."

"I don't want to go to another agency. I know you own the company - "

"Actually, I only own a quarter. Merlin, James and Percival are equal partners."

"Okay, that's even better. Who at Hart & Co. would you recommend?"

Harry doesn't hesitate. "Percival as your business manager and James as your booking agent. They are the best in the business, and I think more suited to developing your future works than I would be."

Eggsy's still unhappy and Harry pulls him close. "You trust me?"

"Yeah, you know I do." 

"Then trust me when I tell you that making me your manager would not be in your best interest. The music industry is littered with such failed relationships. I'd rather be your lover."

That word brings a smile to Eggsy's lips. "My lover, I like the sound of that."

"I like the sound of that, too."

"So what now?"

"Do you want to join your friends at the pub in Inverness?"

Eggsy considers the question before answering. "I really would like you to hear all of us together."

"Then you should let them know you'll meet them there - but don't say anything about me. I still want to observe them - and you - as a unit."

"Sounds good. I'll tell Bethany to leave room for me - we usually start playing around nine." Eggsy fires off a text and smiles when he gets an immediate response. "Yeah, they're on-board."

Harry plucks the phone out of Eggsy's hand and pulls him back under the covers, and rolls them over - so he's perched over Eggsy. Eggsy looks up at him, feeling Harry's arousal against his own, and asks again, "What now?"

"Now - " He kisses Eggsy, "I think we finish what we'd started."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Whatever reservations Harry has - and he has a lot of them - about getting emotionally and romantically involved with an artist, especially one he'd discovered, will have to be wrestled with in private. For the moment, he's going to enjoy his time with Eggsy, watch him bloom into the musician Harry had always thought he could be.

The recording Eggsy's played for him had taken his breath away. The song Eggsy had written and the group performed reminds him of the best work of the singer-songwriter generation. It's lyrical, filled with emotion, but intelligent, too. It's not just a love song, it a story about two people caught up in a place and time and tragedy. The seasoned agent can hear how marketable the music is, even though it's utterly different from what Eggsy's played up to now. It isn't the song that will bring Eggsy back into the limelight, but ultimately, it's going to be a bigger hit. Harry's managed enough stars to know when a song has Grammy nomination written all over it.

But that's a long way off. Tonight, he's going to hear Eggsy perform with his band in a hopefully anonymous setting. Harry finds it hard to believe that no one's recognized Eggsy as the one-time mega-star Gary Unwin, after all, he'd been spotted by fans in casual settings in Carlisle. But perhaps no one recognizes Eggsy because no one expect a one-time mega-star - a pop star - to be playing trad in an Inverness pub.

Eggsy's dressed like a local. Baggy cargo shorts, a loose tee-shirt with the logo of the local footie club on it, and his ever-present snapback. His hair is shorter and darker than he'd worn in his hey-day, Chester had him dressed and groomed for the tweener market - someone the pre-teen girls would sob over and their mothers would think is safe.

Harry prefers the short back-and-sides look, it makes Eggsy look his age, and the weeks of good sleep, good food, regular exercise - and of course, the lack of drugs and booze - have done a lot to erase the gaunt and haunted look he'd had when Harry had gone to see him in the hospital after the overdose.

As for the pink in Eggsy's cheeks and the spring in his step, well, Harry has reason to know just what caused that.

"You ready?"

Eggsy lifts up his guitar case and says, "I have all that I need." 

"Then shall we go?"

"Yes, we shall." Eggsy heads outside and takes a deep breath. The rain that's blanketed the area for the past few days has finally moved off. The evening is not exactly warm by London standards, but it's comfortable. The sky is an almost painfully clear blue, with a raft of high, drifting clouds, tinged rose and gold by the late evening sun. Perhaps a good omen for the night ahead.

Eggsy's quiet, lost in thought, and Harry respects that.

"Haz?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"What if you don't like them?"

"What do you mean by 'like'?" Harry is surprised by Eggsy's uneasiness.

"What if you think they're shite musicians?"

Harry reassures him. "I won't think that. Remember, I've already heard them, and I'm extremely impressed, even taking the poor quality of the recording into account. I've spent my fair share of evenings in pubs, listening to all kinds of bands, and what I heard this afternoon is a group of artists with too much talent and drive to be wasting their time playing for free beer down at the local."

"Okay, okay. Guess I'm just nervous? Like this is bigger than anything I've ever done before."

"You played the O2 for three sold-out nights, Eggsy. This is just an evening at the pub." Harry understands Eggsy's nervousness, and tries to downplay it. "There's nothing to worry about."

"It's my whole future, Harry - what if you don't like them." Eggsy scrubs his face. "Yeah, I'm repeating myself. And you're not my manager. Right? You just want to look out for me, right?"

"Right - that's the most important thing of all. And also, if they are as good as I think they are, I want to get them proper representation. It doesn't have to be with Hart & Co., though I'd think it would be best for you if your band has the same representation."

"Yeah, of course." Eggsy lets out a deep breath. "Times like this, I'm kind of sorry I gave up the weed and booze."

"No, you're not." Harry needs to reinforce that. "You are too strong to need those crutches."

"Yeah, yeah - you're right. And your dick is better than any weed."

Harry doesn't try to hold back a laugh. "Well, you are very good for my ego."

"I'm just going to sit here, practice my fingering for _Whisky in a Jar_ and think of your dick up my ass."

"All right, you do that." Harry concentrates on the road and smiles. This is been a good day.

It's not long before Harry drops Eggsy off in front of The North Star, with the promise that he'll be watching from the bar. Eggsy nods, leans over the console, and kisses Harry. Harry kisses him back and says, "For luck, although you don't need it."

Eggsy pulls his guitar out from the back, and heads into the pub. Harry waits a few moments, watching through the windows as Eggsy greats a tall girl with a shocking purple Mohawk with a hug. Others gather around Eggsy – a diverse group of people Eggsy's age – and Harry's pleased. He might not be Eggsy's manager, but that doesn't mean he can't see the marketing potential there.

Harry's startled out of his thoughts when someone honks and shouts for him to get a move on. He finds a parking spot and heads for the pub. There's still an hour until the music starts and Harry takes a seat upstairs and orders a light supper. There's a balcony that gives a good view of the bar and where Eggsy and the band are setting up. Harry is quietly pleased when he sees the bartender hand Eggsy a bottle of water, even though a few of the bandmates are getting beer.

He keeps an eye on Eggsy, watching his interactions with his bandmates, the other patrons, the pub staff, and Harry isn't quite certain that some of the people haven't recognized him, but even if they have, they're doing a good job of pretending that Eggsy's just another musician there to entertain.

Watching Eggsy like this makes Harry so proud; Eggsy's happy, he's doing something he loves - something he _should_ be doing - with people he clearly cares about, it makes Harry ache for the time lost.

And for the time when Eggsy finds someone more suitable, someone younger and more vibrant. Eggsy shouldn't be tying himself to an old man, but Harry will stand behind him, encouraging and supporting him, for as long as he possibly can. He'll be the gentleman he had been raised to be, and will let Eggsy go when he needs to, but he will remain Eggsy's friend, his ardent supporter and a refuge whenever he needs it.

Lara will likely call him a maudlin idiot and Kenyon will use a lot stronger language to express his opinion on just how ridiculous Harry is. But Harry know that this can't last.

At that moment, Eggsy glances up and catches Harry's eye. All too aware of Eggsy's nearby bandmates, Harry just nods and Eggsy flashes a brilliant smile before turning his attention back to the girl with the purple Mohawk. She's pulled out a piece of paper and gather the other three members of the group - it's likely their set list. There's some good-natured arguing before everyone takes a seat around a large table. A man who might just be the purple-haired girl's brother plays a note on a recorder and the the people with strings tune up. There's a moment of hush throughout the pub before the group starts to play a rollicking tune that Harry thinks might be a version of _The Red Barn Stomp_. 

He remembers his promise to watch from the bar, leaves cash to pay for his meal, and heads downstairs. While the viewing vantage had been better from the balcony, the acoustics are better downstairs. Harry's original impression from Eggsy's phone recording are quickly reinforced - this group is better than good. And as he thinks of that recording, Harry pulls out his own phone and sets it to record.

Eggsy keeps to the background, letting the rest of the group shine as they run through a repertoire of reels and jigs, and Bethany takes center stage with an especially fine rendition of Niel Gow's _Lament_. The set goes on for another hour and Harry marvels at their stamina. Just as Harry thinks the band is done, one of the girls pushes the microphone in front of Eggsy. The percussionist, a young Black man in a yarmulke, taps out the beat on on bodrum, a rolling - almost martial - five count and he's joined by the piper playing a single drawn-out note.

Harry thinks he recognizes the song and feels a catch under his heart. It's _Donald MacGillavry_ , one of the most martial of the great Jacobite songs from the first Uprising and Eggsy has captured the raw power of the words exhorting the clans to war against the English. Harry's familiar enough with the lyrics to hear how Eggsy doesn't quite have the Scots Gaelic down, but Eggsy's enough of a Celt to be convincing.

And then in doesn't matter. Most of the pubs patrons know the song, too, and join in the chorus, loud and off-key:

_Here's to the king and Donald Macgillavry._  
_Come like a weighbauk, Donald Macgillavry,_  
_Come like a weighbauk, Donald Macgillavry,_  
_Balance them fair, and balance them cleverly,_  
_Off wi'the counterfeit, Donald Macgillavry_

The song comes to a rollicking, raucous end and the patrons explode with cheers and whistles and calls for an encore, but the band demurs. After two hours of playing without a break, they are done and start packing up. Harry debates approaching, but when Eggsy waves at him, the decision is made. He puts down his glass and eases his way between the patrons. Eggsy's grinning like he's just won the National Lottery and when Harry approaches, Eggsy just flings himself into Harry's arms. 

"Well?"

Harry glances around, noting the curious expressions on the four bandmates, but no one else seems to care. Rather than make a big deal over it, Harry asks, "Will you introduce me?"

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do have a complete playlist for Eggsy and the band's performance at The North Star but I'm saving that for another time. Here are the songs mentioned:
> 
> [Queen of Argyll](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cIseNLGKaY4) \- Silly Wizard Version (Kiss the Tears Away)
> 
> [Scots Wha' Hae](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DTH4DiChy5w) \- Dougie MacLean Version (Tribute)
> 
> [Red Barn Stomp](https://youtu.be/SLI6AVBegdQ) \- Oysterband (Little Rock to Leipzig)
> 
> [Neil Gow's Lament (On the Death of His Second Wife)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p2PQDiJyHg0) \- Dougie MacLean Version (Tribute)
> 
> [Donald MacGillavry/O'Neill's Cavalry March](https://youtu.be/lyw8veJx_4Y) \- Silly Wizard Version (So Many Partings). Also, Harry was possibly wrong about this song being an early Jacobite call to arms. I've always been intrigued by it and did a bit of research, and came up with this [persuasive argument that it was an early 19th century hoax](https://reasonableconversation.wordpress.com/2012/08/09/donald-macgillavry-the-genius-hoax/).


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets to meet the band and the band gets to meet Harry. It's an interesting interaction, to say the least.
> 
> But what happens when Harry and Eggsy get home is of far greater importance.

Eggsy hopes Harry isn't too annoyed that they aren't sticking to the game plan, letting Harry observe anonymously and then setting up a formal meeting in a day or so. He also hopes Ronnie and the rest of the band aren't too pissed that he'd brought Harry without telling them in advance. Eggsy makes the introductions, but just uses first names - he's pretty certain that this group wouldn't have heard of Hart & Co., but just in case, he doesn't want to set them off, right off the bat.

Sean looks from him to Harry and back and mouths something obscene. Bethany, always the voice of reason, suggests they head upstairs to talk. At this hour, the kitchen is closed and they'll have relative privacy.

They take a table in a far corner, away from the balcony. Sean, being Sean, plunges right in. "So, Eggsy, this is yer someone with the capital 'S'?"

"Yeah. Harry's the bloke who discovered me. Things turned a bit evil and he got the boot and his old boss managed me until I stopped bringing in the cash. Then I got fired from my label and agency and Harry stepped back in. " Eggsy hasn't told anyone about the OD - it's not their business.

"Seems pretty opportunistic." Ben, who's a bit less aggressive that Sean, is also someone who doesn't suffer fools. He reminds Eggsy of Kenyon.

"Eggsy's simplified the story, but there were some significant constrains on my involvement. And just so you know, I am not Eggsy's manager or his agent."

"No? Then who the fuck are ye?" Sean is leading with his chin.

"I'm a friend, and someone with significant status in the industry."

"Then why aren't ye representing him? Ain't he a big enough gold mine for ye?"

Bethany gives her brother a hard shove. "Shut yer trap, Sean."

"Actually, Eggsy can do better than retain me. My focus is on discovering new talent, not managing existing stars." 

Eggsy says a silent prayer of thanks. He didn't think Harry would out him, even though he'd nearly outed himself when Harry had approached after the set. Eggsy's only excuse is that he'd been high from the performance, giddy from the music and the crowd's reaction.

"Ye got a card, Mr. Big Time Theatrical Talent Discovery Agent?" Sean is still being an ass.

Harry just smiles, produces one from his jacket, and hands it to Sean.

And apparently Eggsy had been wrong about no one knowing who Harry Hart is. 

"Holy mother of Jesus, ye're fucking Harry Hart." Sean stares at Harry's card, then looks over at Eggsy. "Ye're friends with Harry fucking Hart. Ye were discovered by Harry Hart, fuck me."

"That's an awful lot of fucking, Sean. And yeah, Harry found me from my YouTube vids. It's what he does. Finds talent and nurtures it. I got shafted when his old boss thought I'd make a good clone of Justin Bieber."

Sean hands the card to Ben, who passes it to Ronnie and Bethany. "So, what do ye think, Mister Hart?"

Eggsy holds his breath, waiting for Harry to render judgment.

"I think you - all of you - have a fair amount of potential. You're a bit more than the average pub band."

Ronnie laughs sourly, "Damned with faint praise."

"That isn't faint praise, my dear. I've heard hundreds of bands - trad and pop and rock and jazz - and everything in-between. Ninety-nine-point-nine of the groups and artists I hear are less than mediocre, they make up for their lack of musical talent with volume and enthusiasm. There's one-tenth of one percent that actually have the skill and the stage presence to make it out of the pub and into the studio and not waste my time."

Harry's voice is hard and no-nonsense, and Eggsy's struck with a memory - of the first time he'd met Harry, so many years ago. The words had been different, but the tone had been the same.

"So, are we wasting yer time?" Bethany looks thoughtful.

"I wouldn't be up here, with you, if you were. I'd have found a way to let Eggsy down, and you never would have been the wiser."

The four of them - Eggsy can't include himself in this discussion - nod as one, as Harry's words finally penetrate. Bethany asks, "So, what now?"

"I'd like to hear you in a studio. Without distraction."

Sean grimaces. "We don't exactly have fancy practice space - we get together in my loft. Acoustics are all right, I guess, if you want to come listen."

Eggsy catches Harry's eye and hopes he's not out of line when he suggests Achnagairn. "There's really good studio space at Harry's house. It's not far - just outside of Kirkhill."

Ben shakes his head and smiles, "Of course there is."

"We will be there, tomorrow, noon." Sean is now fully on board and he's asserting himself as the man in charge.

Harry doesn't have a problem with this plan. "Noon works. Do you need someone to pick you up or can you get out with your instruments?"

"Ronnie has an old VW bus - can't go as far as London, but it gets us to Kirkhill regularly." Bethany looks at Eggsy. "Ye didn't tell us ye've been staying at the big house there."

Eggsy shrugs. "Figured you just might know who it belongs to - didn't want to give anything away just yet."

Bethany laughs. "We know just who ye are, laddie. If we were going to take ye for a ride, we'd have done so weeks ago."

Eggsy has to concede the point. Then he yawns, hard enough to crack his jaw. "Sorry, it's been a long day - and I'm kind always like this after a show."

Without much ceremony, Harry gets to his feet, confirms that the band will be at Achnagairn at noon tomorrow and hustles Eggsy out. Eggsy flings a look back, Ronnie and Bethany are smirking but Ben and Sean just look confused. _Oh, well._

Eggsy wants Harry to dissect the performance on the drive home, but as soon as Harry pulls out of the parking lot, he falls asleep and doesn't stir until Harry brushes his cheek and tells him that they're back at Achnagairn. He opens his eyes and looks at Harry in the soft interior light of the car and feels like everything that he's ever wanted is right within reach. Harry smiles and murmurs something about it's time for all good boys to go to bed. 

"Only if I can share it with you."

"Of course, I would be disappointed if you didn't."

Eggsy grumbles between yawns, "And god forbid the great Harry Hart is disappointed."

Harry just laughs as he helps Eggsy out of the Range Rover. When Eggsy makes a noise about his guitar, Harry shushes him with a don't worry - and Eggsy doesn't. 

Upstairs, Eggsy's little more than a limp noodle sitting on the edge of the bed as Harry gets him out of his clothes, much like Eggsy had taken care of him when he'd returned from London. 

"Are you really always like this after a performance?"

"No, not really. Just …" Eggsy sighs, "Really satisfied. And it's been a big day. First real performance in years, came out, lost my virginity to the man I love." Eggsy blinks, far less sleepy than he'd been a few seconds ago, as he realizes what he's just said. "Harry - "

Harry is standing there, holding Eggsy's shirt, looking at Eggsy like he's just seen the Holy Grail, or maybe he's utterly appalled. "Eggsy - "

Eggsy gets up, his instinct is to run, to protect himself, even though Harry's going to let him down gently. "Sorry, Haz - didn't mean to dump that on you. Just - just - " Eggsy gets up and tries to leave, "forget I said that - don't mean to make you feel weird or awkward or anything. Just - " Eggsy wants to curse and deny, but this isn't something he _can't_ deny. He can't make a lie out of the truth. When he tries to push past Harry, to get to the safety of his own room, Harry grabs his arm and holds on.

"Eggsy - "

Eggsy doesn't hear the affection in Harry's voice as tries to free himself; he can't, Harry's hold is implacable. Even as he gets wilder, more desperate, Harry just holds on and pushes him until he's back on the bed, flat on his back. He's still struggling but Harry's perched over him.

"Damn it, Eggsy, calm down and listen to me."

Feeling defeated and confused, Eggsy stops fighting, but he's ready to flee the moment Harry lets his guard down.

"Eggsy, darling, there's nothing to be afraid of." Harry's voice is soft, he's smiling.

"Harry?" Eggsy doesn't want to let himself believe that this isn't going to end in disaster.

"You've given me a most wonderful gift, my darling boy." Then Harry shakes his head. "Several wonderful gifts. Your trust. Your body. And most precious of all, your love." Harry punctuates each word with a kiss. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

Eggsy looks at Harry, trying to find the lie in Harry's words. But there is no lie, just pure truth. "I didn't want you to know."

Harry relaxes again him, then rolls over, so they are face to face. "I know - and I understand."

"How?"

"Because I feel the same way. Because I love you, too. Until this morning, I'd thought it was a disaster."

"You thought I was straight." Eggsy feels like he's one step from walking off a cliff, but he might just as easily fly as fall.

"And I was so bitterly angry when you told me that you'd met a girl - I could still pointlessly dream as long as you weren't giving your affections to anyone."

Eggsy takes that step. "No one but you, Harry. Does that seem queer? Fucked up?"

"Why?"

"Because you kind of just stepped in and rescued me?" Eggsy needs to lay it all on the line. "I don't think this is weird and co-dependent, but I've never had a relationship before." He's flailing - falling, not flying.

But Harry catches him. "If I was a better man, if you didn't matter so much to me, I'd let you go. We'd have a lovely summer fling and when your career amped up again, I'd ease back. Watch you soar, watch you find someone else, someone more fitting. But I'm not a better man. I'm hopelessly in love with you, and I never want to let you go, even though you deserve someone more - " Harry grimaces, "suitable."

"Fitting? Suitable? What do you mean?" Eggsy feels so confused, what isn't suitable about Harry Hart?

Harry smiles a bit sadly. "Someone younger."

"Don't care about that." Eggsy is fierce about that. He loves that Harry's older, that he knows what he's doing.

"And for the record, I don't think this is weird and co-dependent." Harry answers thoughtfully. He strokes Eggsy's cheek. "If it was, you'd have been a lot more upset when I said I couldn't be your manager."

Eggsy leans into the caress. "Yeah, probably." His heart too full of happiness to question this anymore, he kisses Harry's palm. "Yeah, I love you. Love you so fucking much. Gonna write an album full of songs about how much I love you."

Harry laughs and Eggsy can hear the delight in that, and a bit of embarrassment, too. "Won't name check you, not if you don't want."

"I don't mind if you do, but you don't have to. How and when you chose to come out to the wider world is up to you. If you want to issue a press release, we can arrange that. If you want to do it through your music, you can do that, too. If you are content to just let your friends and family know, I'm fine with that. I don't need your public acknowledgement."

"Yeah, didn't figure you did. You're secure in who you are. And you trust me." Not that he'd ever step out on Harry, he couldn't even imagine something that awful.

"Yes, and yes, but it's more that that. I'm not a public figure, Eggsy. If you never want to come out, you'll have my support, as well. But I know that hiding has been a terrible burden, what Chester forced you to do almost cost you your soul. You have to do what's right for you, and when it's right for you."

Eggsy relaxes, feeling like he can drift along on the rising thermals. Harry's showing him how to spread his wings and teaching him how to trust their strength. "Can we figure this out tomorrow?" Eggsy remembers that the band's going to be here at noon. "Or the next day? Or whenever?"

"Absolutely." Harry kisses him again, softly, sweetly. "I love you."

"I said it first, you know." Eggsy yawns and snuggles against Harry, secure and happy.

"Cheeky brat."

"Love you, too."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months later, Eggsy and his new band, The Blackbirds, have released a single that's steadily climbing the charts and people - important people - are taking interest. One particularly Important Person is Sir Elton John, who invites Eggsy and The Blackbirds to perform on his Internet Radio show, _Rocket Hour_.
> 
> Eggsy, despite his early fame and media savvy, is just a tiny bit nervous.

EPILOGUE

Harry watches from the sound booth as Eggsy's band, The Blackbirds, do a soundcheck. When the technician tells them she's good to go, Sean nods at the group, counts down from five and plays the opening measures of their hit song, _Runaway Angel_. In the adjacent studio, Eggsy nods and comes in on beat.

The song is lyrical and upbeat, a celebration of everyone's musicality. Harry is pleased; James, standing next to him, is equally chuffed. He'd pulled a few strings to get their most precious client this gig.

The man who owns the studio, in fact, the whole bloody building, is sitting next to the tech, with a particularly serene smile on his face. Elton John watches over the production of the musical segment for his internet radio show, _Rocket Hour,_ like a pudgy Buddha in rhinestone-trimmed glasses and a tracksuit. "They sound rather good."

James, who doesn't have Harry's long-term insight into the singer's mindset, says something potentially foolish, "You'd expect anything else from them?"

But Sir Elton is in a benevolent mood, "I've learned to expect nothing, which is why I'm rarely disappointed. But there have been plenty of times that artists have come here and choked in the studio, and we've ended up playing a previously recorded track."

Harry doesn't pay any further attention to the conversation; he's more interested in listening to Eggsy. It doesn't matter that he's heard Eggsy and the band perform this song a hundred times before, every time he hears it, it's like the first. There's a reason why the song's a hit - it's a damn fine piece of music.

There's a moment of hush when the song comes to an end; Eggsy sings the last verse without any accompaniment, and his voice is pure and strong.

Finally, the technician says, "Good take, everyone. Thank you. We'll be ready to go again when you are."

Eggsy gets up and talks with his band mates as they set up for the next song, an aching and heartfelt version of _The Deserter_. Since Eggsy will need backup vocals, Ronnie will join him in his side of the recording booth. Harry had to work hard to get the rights to this song for Eggsy; it's something of a signature work for the original performer. But Harry had done his research and found himself with an unexpected card to play - Eggsy and the songwriter share a Welsh hometown, although Eggsy had been mostly raised in London and the songwriter had been brought up in Yorkshire. Harry had used that, the sentimentality of one exiled Welshman to another, and it worked. It hasn't hurt that Eggsy is name-checking the original singers in every interview, bringing that band into fashion like they've never been before.

The second recording goes as smoothly as the first, and this time, Harry watches Elton's face. It's a well-know fact that Elton John loves country music - particularly old-style American country - the kind that tells stories about desperate times and terrible deeds and men who loved horses more than women. He's not so sure that the icon has a similar affinity for British folk-rock music, but he seems to be enjoying what he's hearing, nodding his head in time, tapping out a silent accompaniment on the edge of the desk.

The pause after the song finishes isn't as pronounced as with the first piece, but the technician gives the band a thumbs up and Elton frowns thoughtfully. That makes James a little worried, but when Harry catches his eye, James backs off, bowing to Harry's long-term acquaintance with the star.

Elton gets up and goes into the booth. Since the sound hasn't been cut, Harry can hear Elton giving everyone high praise - he loves both songs, each for different reasons. It's interesting to watch the various members of The Blackbirds interact with one of the greatest legends of the industry, and when Bethany shares how she'd met Eggsy, Elton likens it to his serendipitous meeting with Bernie Taupin. Harry thinks that's overselling Eggsy and Bethany, but it's only been less than one year, not fifty.

"Whenever you're ready, head over to the set and we'll do the interview part of this dog and pony show."

There's a blink and you'll miss it moment of silent communication between the members of The Blackbirds, then Sean says, "Sir Elton, we would love to be part of this interview, but this is really about Eggsy's big comeback, isn't it?"

Eggsy's shaking his head, his bright flush visible from the control room.

"It is, but you're part of that."

"We are, and we're appreciative of how Eggsy's bringing us along, but we're not the stars. We're the backup band. And backup bands don't get primetime on a show like this. We're not exactly media savvy like this guy here."

Eggsy looks like he's about to kill his friends, "Guys - "

Sean's insistent, "No, Eggsy. Ye're the one shining bright. Unless Sir Elton really wants us mucking up in his interview room, we're going to bow out."

Elton makes it easy, "Then it's just you and me, Eggsy. You can have it out with your band later, but we've got an interview to do." 

The singer leaves them and Eggsy immediately starts arguing with everyone. "We don't do interviews like this - I'm a part of this group. Just a part, not some separate thing."

Sean shakes his head. "No, man. Ye're not _just a part_. Ye're Eggsy Unwin, once known as Gary Unwin, pop sensation turned singer-songwriter and what the critics are now calling the voice of a generation." Sean beckons to Harry and James and they both join the band in the studio. "Tell this moron that he's got a chance of a lifetime here, a one-on-one with bloody Sir Elton himself. That he doesn't need us to back him up - at least not like this."

James looks at Harry for help, this type of publicity and ego-soothing isn't his strong suit, and Harry doesn't let James flounder. Despite his insistence that he's not Eggsy's manager, Harry often finds himself taking on that role when it comes to decisions that involve personal matters. Or maybe it's just because Harry is Eggsy's lover, and although he's thoroughly besotted and adoring, he's still got enough of the clear-headed businessman in him to cut through the bullshit and lead Eggsy towards a beneficial decision.

"Eggsy, you have to see that Sean and the rest of the band are right. Sir Elton invited you, collectively, because of you, individually."

Eggsy grimaces.

"And false modesty is as much of a - " Harry doesn't like using the word "sin", "crime against your career as self-aggrandizement. Perhaps more so. This is an opportunity that won't come your way again."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Eggsy sticks his hands in his pockets and glares at the band. "But for the record, you pull a shit stunt like this on me again, you're not going to be happy. This relationship ain't a fucking democracy - you don't get to vote about what you think is right for me. We discuss it, like god-damn fucking adults, you fucking fuckwads."

Bethany and Ronnie snort, Ben actually giggle, and Sean says, "Almost good enough for Scottish Twitter, laddie, but not quite. Ye need a few more fucks and a cunt or two. Except ye don't do pussy, do ye?"

Eggsy flushes bright red; he still a bit uncertain about being out to his bandmates. But he has enough presence to come back with, "I did your mum's once, we both agreed it wasn't an experience worth repeating." Eggsy looks over at Bethany, "Sorry - pretend I never said that."

"No offense, I often like to pretend my cunt of a brother came out of a different womb." She smacks the back of Sean's head, sending his yarmulke flying. 

Sean retrieves the head covering and re-pins it to his curls. "Now, I suggest ye get yourself into yer interview clothes. We got some tee-shirts to sell."

Harry's a bit proud of those tee-shirts - Eggsy' red Cymru dragon is harried by four blackbirds in rainbow kilts, two wearing yarmulkes. When Eggsy's new album finally drops, that will be the cover art - exceedingly retro in every way.

He takes Eggsy's arm and pulls him out of the recording booth, James grins and hands Eggsy his bag and they head to a dressing room. Like everything at Elton's estate in Old Windsor, it's opulent to the point of ridiculousness. But Eggsy doesn't notice as he strips down and Harry hands him his clothes.

"You all right, my dear?"

Eggsy smiles at the endearment and leans in for a quick kiss. "Yeah, I'm all right. Just don't like being manipulated."

Harry kisses him back. "Even when they're right?"

"Fuck off." Eggsy pushes Harry away and fusses a bit in front of the mirror. "How do I look?"

"Can you sit in those?" The denims are so tight, they look painted on.

Eggsy runs his hands over his ass and thighs. "They're a bit stretchy, but I won't be able to eat until I can get out of them." He brushes at the front of the tee-shirt. "In or out?"

"That's an interesting question, darling."

Eggsy rolls his eyes, "The shirt - tucked in or left loose?"

"Leave it untucked." Harry sighs, he knows Eggsy's deflecting - he does this when he's nervous. 

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Otherwise, my ass is going to look huge."

Harry doesn't feel the least obliged when he says to Eggsy, "I'll have you know, from very personal experience, that your ass is absolutely perfect." 

"Of course you'd think that." Eggsy just shakes his head and twists around, to check that part of his anatomy.

Harry stands behind Eggsy and rests his hands on Eggsy's shoulders, hoping to ground him. "You look perfect. Are you ready?" Maybe there's something he can do for Eggsy's nerves. Harry runs a hand down Eggsy's torso, and stopping only when he gets to Eggsy's groin. "How about I help take the edge off?"

Eggsy catches Harry's gaze in the mirror. "Depends on what you're offering."

Harry licks his lips and then bites Eggsy's ear, not hard enough to leave a mark, but just hard enough to trigger a response. Eggsy's cock starts to swell behind his zipper. 

"Ahh, yeah. I think I could go with that. But you can't mess me up - don't have another change of clothes with me."

Harry doesn't hesitate and pulls the tee shirt off of Eggsy, carefully folding it. 

Eggsy snickers, "Only Harry Hart would think to fold my shirt before giving me a blow job."

Harry replies, in his primmest voice, "Well, you don't want to go on camera looking like you've been dragged backwards through a hedge."

"Or just had my cock sucked."

"That, too." Harry takes his time with Eggsy's shirt, just to be a complete shit. He sets it on an overstuffed chair and pushes Eggsy back against the door, thumbing the lock shut before going to his knees. "You'll have to be very quiet, my dear. You don't want people to hear you, do you?"

Eggsy sucks in his breath, and when Harry looks up, Eggsy's cheeks are stained red, like this is something that turns him on. Harry files the idea away, to explore later. He doesn't think Eggsy is interested in exhibitionism, but he might just have a danger kink, something Harry would enjoy indulging in a very controlled environment.

Even though they've been lovers for six months, sex is still a lot of exploration of like and don't like. Harry's discovered that Eggsy is both shy and enthusiastic - a product of a lifetime of hiding and self-denial. They have spend a lot of time exploring the better porn sites, discovering what Eggsy is interested in, what surprises him, and what turns him off. Harry is very careful not to let his own kinks and preferences influence Eggsy - he doesn't want Eggsy to like something because he thinks he should, or because he thinks Harry wants it. But overall, Harry has found their desires to be extremely compatible. Eggsy isn't purely submissive, not by any stretch, he's delightfully bossy about his pleasure and the occasional bit of light pain - like the bite Harry has just given him.

Light pain isn't Eggsy's only kink. "Ah, Eggsy, you're so very good, you know. So beautiful, so brilliant." Harry runs his hands up the back of Eggsy's thighs, pouring effusive and heartfelt praise on this part of his lover's anatomy. "Your thighs are like a god's, Apollo, perhaps, or maybe Achilles, or if godhood doesn't appeal, one of the first Olympians. Do you know you've been immortalized on art created three thousand years before your birth?"

"Haz - " Eggsy's protest is choked off as Harry shushes him.

"Quiet, my dear. Remember that someone might be listening." Harry reaches into his pocket and takes out his handkerchief, pushing it into Eggsy's hand. "Here, bite on this - you don't want those pretty lips to be swollen on camera." 

Harry deftly unbuckles Eggsy's belt and pops the button on his fly. He takes his time easing the zipper down. Eggsy's cock is so hard behind it that Harry's afraid he'll do some damage if he rushes, but eventually, Eggsy's denims are open and Harry takes out the prize, Eggsy's beautiful cock. He would heap praise on it too, but time is a factor and Harry is frankly too hungry for it to form coherent sentences. He goes down on Eggsy like the old pro that he is. Eggsy might not have the longest cock in the word, but there is a certain majesty to his girth, a challenge that Harry always enjoys overcoming. 

Eggsy has put a careful hand on the back of Harry's head; he's all too conscious of where they are and just what they'd be revealing if he were to mess up Harry's hair. 

Harry knows he can't linger but he doesn't do anything to rush Eggsy's pleasure. It's not as if Elton is going to go out and find someone else to interview or cancel on Eggsy if Eggsy's a few minutes late. It's when he swallows deep and Eggsy's hand tightens that he realizes that Eggsy's just heartbeats from orgasm. Harry eases up, hums against Eggsy's sensitive skin, and Eggsy comes. It's not Harry's favorite taste in the word, but this isn't the time or place to be wearing a string of pearls, so he swallows every drop. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry sees Eggsy drop the handkerchief and Harry retrieves it, using it to clean Eggsy before tucking him back into his clothes. He turns it over, finds a clean spot, and wipes his lips before letting Eggsy help him to his feet. The handkerchief goes back into his pocket, he's not leaving fine embroidered linen like this in the trash.

"Are you all right now?"

Eggsy laughs a little, sounding just a trifle manic, then leans against Harry for a quick hug. "Love you so much, Haz. You are everything to me."

Harry kisses Eggsy, at least until Eggsy makes a slightly disgusted sound, backing away and telling him, "Yeah, not until you've brushed your teeth."

Remembering just who owns this dressing room, Harry opens an ornamental box on one of the tables. As he'd hoped, there's a tin of Altoids, as well as a box of condoms and a few sachets of lube. He helps himself to a few mints, offers the tin to Eggsy, and checks himself out in the mirror. His trousers are no worse for wear, but he'll need to leave his jacket buttoned to cover his boner until it goes down. Eggsy's already put the tee shirt back on and has the look of a man at ease with himself - not quite well-fucked, but a close cousin to it.

"Ready, my dear?"

Eggsy lets out a breath. "Yeah. As I'll ever be."

On the other side of the door, they meet one of the many assistants who handle the guests for Sir Elton's radio show, and Eggsy's taken away for a quick makeup job.

James finds him, he's working on a cup of coffee and the trail of crumbs on his tie tells Harry that there are biscotti somewhere.

James brushes at the crumbs and asks, "You get Eggsy calmed down?"

Harry is a bit annoyed at his business partner. "He's fine, now. Did you know about this stunt?"

"Sean mentioned it to me yesterday." James manages to look everywhere but at Harry.

"Any you thought it was a good idea?"

Now James looks Harry in the eye. "Eggsy is brilliant, but he's got a self-confidence problem as wide as the damn Channel. He's so worried that his bandmates will think he's over-reaching that he'll bury himself in the background if no one stops him. I thought the idea a good one. Let him shine here - he deserves to be alone in that room, being interviewed by the greatest living legend in pop music. The Blackbirds know that, I know that, why don't you?"

Harry feels the sting of those words. Maybe James is right. "Perhaps I have been sheltering Eggsy, but I still don't like that you've manipulated him like this. You might have pushed him the wrong way."

"If Eggsy threatened to walk if the band didn't join him, they wouldn't have blown the opportunity. But it didn't even come to that, Harry. Eggsy wants this chance, he's just not secure enough to ask for it."

"Regardless, in the future, James, don't do that again. Eggsy's smart, he doesn't need to be manipulated like that."

"So noted." James won't do this again, but Harry has the feeling that James will be pushing Eggsy to the forefront in other ways. Harry doesn't disagree with that in principle, but he won't see Eggsy hurt.

Another assistant comes by and asks if they would like to watch the interview from the control room. There's no way that Harry's going to decline. The woman leads them into a video control center that is as well-equipped as the recording studio down the hall. 

Elton is already on set, chatting with one of the many assistants. He takes a sip of water, consults some notes, looks at the booth and gives the tech a thumb's up. Another tech comes in and does a sound check on both mics and tells his boss that they are ready to roll.

_"Welcome to Rocket Hour, I am your host, Elton John, and today's guest is a young man whose career I've been watching with great interest of late. Three years ago, he'd hit the pop scene in a big way, faltered a bit, but is now back and bigger than ever. I'm pleased to introduce my listeners to Eggsy Unwin."_

Eggsy struts onto the set, confident and strong and alluring. Harry wonders if he can get Eggsy to replicate that entrance when they get home.

_"Thank you, Sir Elton, for having me on your programme. It's a tremendous honor."_

With the aplomb of someone who has spent most of his lifetime in front of microphones and cameras, Elton returns the greeting and the interview begins. He asks Eggsy about his career, and the trajectories it has taken.

Eggsy, accustomed by now to these kinds of questions, answers easily, as much of a seasoned professional as Elton, himself. They even have a moment of bonding when Elton asks about Eggsy's nickname and Eggsy tells him that he's never felt like a "Gary". It's only when Elton asks, _"Why did you fall so precipitously?"_ that Eggsy has to pause for an answer.

_"Do you want the easy answer, or the one that's going to ruffle some feathers?"_

_"Oh, let's ruffle a whole lot of feathers."_

Eggsy grins, appreciating the latitude he's been given. _"I had fucked up management. Oh, wait - can I say fucked? Shit - damn it. Sorry."_ Eggsy turned a bit pink, embarrassed at the snafu.

_"Don't worry, they's put in the bleeps and swear cards in during post production. Or we'll put up a content note and leave it in."_

_"Oh, good. So yeah, as I was saying, my manager thought I should be performing one kind of music for one kind of audience, when I wanted to do my own stuff in my own way. He put me in a real tight vise, squeezed me hard, and I was young and stupid and thought I didn't have a choice."_

Harry knows the story about Elton and the man who'd managed his career for the early part of his career, and while John Reid had been - and still is - and utter shite of a human being, he'd known better than to push the golden goose he'd been managing in the wrong direction.

_"It seems you are well rid of him."_

_"Yeah. When my second album was such an utter cluster-"_ Eggsy catches himself before he starts swearing again, _"he'd actually fired me. Best thing that ever happened. Got myself clean and sober and found my music again."_

That of course catches Elton's interest. _"You had a substance abuse problem? I did not know that."_

Eggsy gives Elton a considering look. _"Yeah, I did. Since I wasn't the kind of performer who'd go on a tear after a show, few people actually did know and none of them were interesting in seeing that I got help. I kept it in the closet, under wraps."_ Eggsy sighs, _"And I guess you're no stranger to using that crap to compensate for feelings of loss and failure."_ That had been a hard-fought lesson Eggsy had shared with Harry after months of private therapy.

_"No, young man, I'm no stranger to those problems. You've gotten help?"_

_"Yeah, meetings. Therapy. Having people who truly care about me. And not hiding or being ashamed about it. I've found that when I tell people I tea-total, they kind of just shrug and don't make a big deal about it, occasionally so asshole asks me if I have a problem with booze, and I say yeah and they slink off. I'm not going to be shamed for taking control of my life and making the hard choices. I nearly died from it and I don't ever want to go back there again."_

Harry is so goddamn fucking proud of Eggsy. They've never talked about him going public with his drug problem, not the way they've discussed him coming out about his sexuality.

Elton puts a hand over Eggsy's in a gesture of solidarity. _"If you ever need any help, anyone to talk with, I'll always take your calls. My own problems were less about the music than about hiding who I really was, but I think I can still offer you assistance."_

Harry holds his breath as Eggsy flicks a glance at the control room. Harry nods, knowing that this is the moment - unexpected and perfect, and Eggsy's going to seize it with both hands. He loves Eggsy so much, his beautiful, brave Eggsy. Stronger than anyone could ever possibly imagine.

Eggsy sits up, back straight, eyes focused on Elton. _"I probably should clarify - the piss poor choice in music that my management forced on me had only been a small part of my problem. The biggest part was their insistence that I remain in the closet."_ Eggsy licks his lips and continues, _"The moment after I signed the contract with them, I was told that if I came out - or even let anyone hint that I was gay - I would be sued out of existence. And the truth is, I am gay. I have always been gay. I never want to be anything but gay. I didn't plan on coming out to you here and now, but I just couldn't keep hiding the truth."_

Elton stands up, hugs Eggsy, and kisses his forehead. He turns to the camera and in a voice that could give God the shivers, says , _"And if they don't like it, they can go fuck themselves. And no one is bleeping that."_

_FIN_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You knew this was going to happen, right? How could I write a story about rock star Eggsy and not find a way to work in Elton John? I think I've watched the [video of Taron and Elton](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=12XyN5areRI) a few dozen times, to get the cadence of the interview close to plausible. Also, I have no idea of the show is filmed at Sir Elton's estate in Old Windsor. Or if Sir Elton stocks his guest spaces with condoms, lube and breath mints!
> 
> The final bit about the music:
> 
> I have been a fan of the British folk/punk group Oysterband (or originally, The Oyster Band) since 1991, when I happened to hear them play at a local record store in Philadelphia (Third Street Jazz, off of Market in Olde City, and I suspect, closed for many years). Their music absolutely captivates me, enthralls me, excites me and moves me to tears. I would honestly have to say that Oysterband is my favorite musical group, hands down. That being said, I don't know a lot about the individual members (that level of fannishness I reserve for my movie and television obsessions). 
> 
> A few weeks ago, I had answered a meme with a request for a short fic using the title "Walking Down The Road With Me" because I'd been thinking of the rather up-tempo Oysterband song, [Walking Down The Road With You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rYhisBMe-cI), and for some reason, I didn't want to use the actual song title (there had been a time that 49 our of 50 stories I'd written had some Oysterband lyrics in the title). Well, the writer (my beloved braintwin, Anarchycox) ended up writing a drabble that pretty much encapsulated the song - without knowing the song at all. So I looked for a YouTube vid to send her and came across a live performance of it. And of course, I had to listen to it.
> 
> And got the shock of a lifetime. The group's lead singer, John Jones, introduces each member of the band (they are a combination of Scots, English and yes, Welsh), and when he gets to himself, he announces that he was "born in Aberystwyth, raised in Yorkshire", I can't contain myself and I know I somehow have to work that into this story. Now, we all know that Aberystwyth is Taron's hometown, right? How serendipitous is that?
> 
> So, of all the really great Oysterband songs (and I strongly encourage you to check them out), I needed a song that has a strong central voice and would be within Eggsy's range. I also wanted something quieter that the aforementioned piece, one that The Blackbirds could adept to their instruments, and has a kind of intensity that will become Eggsy's hallmark. That's how I ended up with [The Deserter](https://youtu.be/8J6fp_oHmhM), which I feel is a kind of metaphor for Eggsy's lost time under Chester's management, his struggles with addiction, his feelings of alienation because of his sexuality.
> 
> And finally, my deepest thanks to Mmouse15 for the amazing artwork and her willingness to let me write this AU. And to Kyele, my enabler-in-chief who read every word, encouraged me when I was down, and offered some precious advice. You can thank her for the BJ scene in the last chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of notes:
> 
> 1 - I realized, after crossing the thirty-thousand word mark, that this is not the first time I've written an artist/talent manager AU for a reverse bang challenge. That one I wrote back in 2014 was for the White Collar Reverse bang, about a cross-dressing club singer, a riff on Victor/Victoria, and the talent manager who is very confused. Just glad to be able to use all of that research again.
> 
> 2 - Readers of The Black Hart may recognize the name "Sally Gideon"; she is an original character created by my dear friend and partner in crime (and words), Kyele. Sally is always these three things: (1) Black; (2) an attorney (either barrister or solicitor, depending on the circumstances) and (3) gorgeous. My thanks to Kyele for letting me borrow her for this story.


End file.
